Genesis
by msdevindanielle
Summary: Set after the events in Beginning of the End. Will Coulson and the team be able to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D.? What happened to Fitz? And what is going on in the Caribbean?
1. Chapter 1

The soles of his shoes clacked along the marble floor as he made his way towards the conference room. Just before he strode through the doors, he paused to check his appearance in the mirror, straightening his jacket and making sure to leave the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone. He had no doubt that they would be able to see through his confident façade, but the outcome of the meeting hinged on his unwavering assurance.

He didn't need to see his head of security in the mirror's reflection to know that his employee was anxious.

"Mr. Quinn, they're…pretty impatient to speak with you."

Ian Quinn plastered a smile on his face before turning around to slap him on the shoulder. "It's all about the presentation, Smith. Relax. I'm a businessman. This is what I do. Trust me, once they see that I got it to work, they're gonna be _begging_ me to take their money."

Quinn could tell that Smith didn't quite buy it, but he kept his reservations to himself and gave a respectful nod in response.

After one last glance in the mirror, Quinn stepped through the open doors and held out his arms. "Gentlemen, sorry to keep you waiting, but I-"

For the first time in his entire career, Ian Quinn was interrupted by a barrage of voices talking over him. He spun around the room in confusion, holding up his hands in a gesture of conciliation and trying not to appear too alarmed. Thankfully, the meeting was being held over teleconference, so Quinn Worldwide's most generous investors didn't physically have access to him. From the angry looks he was being given via each of the seven screens in the room, as well as the words being shouted at him in a multitude of languages, none of them would have hesitated to wring his neck.

It wasn't long before the translators began adding their voices to the mix. Quinn attempted to interject, only to be met with opposition on all sides.

"-the audacity to request a meeting after all that's happened-"

"-better get my money back, with interest, or so help me-"

"-if you think you can just waltz back onto the market without so much as an explanation-"

He tried once more to gain control of the situation. "Gentlemen, please, if I could just have your attention-" But the voices continued to shout over him. Ian Quinn's silver tongue, once able to persuade the most resolute benefactors out of millions at the drop of a hat, was rendered useless against his shareholders' indignation.

He wasn't about to give up so easily, though. He quickly motioned for Smith to skip to the presentation. He had planned the big reveal with much more flourish and theatricality, of course, but he was smart enough to know that he couldn't afford to hold back at this point. This was his last chance. If they weren't completely convinced of his success, if they didn't see the benefit in what he was trying to do, he would lose everything. The very thing he had worked over half of his life towards would amount to nothing.

Smith dexterously input the security code into a side panel. The wall behind him, which had until that moment been occupied by a very rare, expensive painting Quinn had bought on a whim, slid open to uncover a glass case. A silver amorphous substance was suspended behind the partition, enclosed within a full-sized circular generator.

All at once the clamor of voices died down.

Quinn turned back around to face his audience, making sure that the spectacle behind him was in full view of the camera. "That's right, gentlemen. We've found it." He allowed his words to sink in for a moment before continuing. "The gravitonium is not just some theoretical concept scientists came up with in a lab far away from the real world. It wasn't just a ploy I devised back in Malta to take your money. No, _this_…" he said, gesturing at the case, "is real. It's real, and it works."

One of his shareholders began speaking in a language Quinn thought sounded like Arabic. His interpreter was quick to translate. "Mr. Zaghlul thinks that this is an impressive show, but-"

"Qasim," Quinn smiled, clasping his hands together. "It's been too long. How's Nadrah doing? Still beautiful as ever, surely."

To his surprise, Qasim's scowl remained intact, a stark contrast to the architect's usual response whenever his wife was brought up in conversation. His translator continued as if Quinn hadn't spoken.

"_But_ you must assume we all live under rocks if you think we are unaware of what has only just occurred in Florida. That Cybertek fiasco-"

"Was the work of a madman," Quinn replied, trying to make sure his voice remained calm. "A lunatic." He stepped forward, addressing all of the screens. Despite the looks of disapproval he was receiving, he was pleased that he had still managed to get their attention. He took a breath. "John Garrett made many great contributions to the world, namely his work in the exposure of S.H.I.E.L.D. as a corrupt institution. In doing so, he paved the way for companies like ours to get back to what we set out to do. Do you remember what that was? We dedicated our time…and our wallets," he smirked, relieved to see a few faces relax, "to the _pursuit of progress_. Without infringement or regulation. But…ultimately, the technology within John Garrett's system drove him to insanity. What happened in Miami was a disaster, yes. And am I disappointed? Of course! Quinn Worldwide has done business with Cybertek for _years_. No one regrets that loss more than I do, I can assure you. But gentlemen," Quinn paused, looking behind him at the gravitonium. "We don't need Cybertek anymore. We've got everything we've ever worked for right at our fingertips."

"Right at_ your_ fingertips," a voice spoke from one of the screens, and Quinn recognized the head of one of the largest steel companies in the world. "Or have you not forgotten that when your assets were frozen, _we_ were the ones to suffer?"

"Mr. Kimura, believe me when I say that all of that is in the past. I've been given a clean slate, if you will."

"Is that why you're hiding out on an island in the middle of nowhere?"

Quinn smiled. "Let's just say that wherever I am, they can't touch us. More importantly…they can't touch _this_," he gestured to the gravitonium. "But I'm not going to bore you with talk of logistics," he said, waving his hand. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm guessing you all want to see a little demonstration."

He casually reached into his pocket and pulled out a small spherical object. The tiny amount of gravitonium glistened in his palm as he held it out for everyone to see. "Behold. One of the very first prototypes of the generator you see behind me. This little beauty right here was able to upend a semi going 60 miles an hour like _that_," he snapped his fingers. The faces around him didn't seem completely won over, but they sure did look curious. Curiosity was all Quinn needed.

"Now, gravitonium is pretty tricky to deal with, unless you know what you're doing. Thankfully, I do," he chuckled. "You see, on its own, the flow of the element is isotropic, which is just a fancy scientific word to say that the gravity fields remain uniform all around it. But when I apply an electric current, the rules of gravity…change. Up until now, the effects have been random. With a little tinkering, though, we've managed to control the fields. And I'm sure you're all gonna want to see this."

Quinn nodded over to one of his technicians, who was standing hesitantly near the control box. "Um…sir?" he murmured quietly. "A word?"

Quinn's mouth twitched upwards slightly, which was the only outward sign of his panic. Didn't all of his employees know how important this was? How pivotal this moment was in tipping the balance in their favor? He managed to freeze a smile in place before turning back to his impatient shareholders.

"Just…one moment, please," he said, holding up a finger before briskly walking over to the box. "What's the problem?" he hissed.

"I'm sorry, sir, it's just…we've only tested out the fields on the prototype. Are you sure it'll work for this one?" Quinn could tell that the technician wasn't trying to be doubtful, but as he glanced at the rest of his security team assembled near the doorway, the fear of what a twelve-foot particle generator could accomplish shone brightly in their eyes.

"Don't worry," Quinn reassured him, exuding the confidence he knew they needed to hear. "I triple-checked all the calculations myself. The same substance that fuelled the prototype fuels that machine right there," he said, pointing to the object behind the glass. "It'll work. Now I need you to do your job."

"Yes, sir," the technician replied, his eyes cast downwards.

"Good man," Quinn smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. He spun around to face the jury that would decide his verdict. "Let's get this show on the road then."

He heard the noise of a few beeps behind him, shortly followed by the soft hum of the generator beginning to move. Despite the gravity of the situation, Quinn could feel the excitement course throughout his body. After all of the setbacks and difficulties he had gone through to get to this moment, he was finally going to show the world his success.

"And…we'll send a current through…now." The generator pulsed with blue light as the electricity crackled through the apparatus, and the gravitonium solidified, hovering in its center. "All right, Madigan, let's start off with something simple." He grinned as he reached over to a side table and grabbed three ball bearings. "Decrease the number of gravitons within a one-millimeter radius of anything under a gram."

Almost immediately, the ball bearings began levitating above his hand. He stepped backwards so that his audience could see that they really were floating in midair.

Most of the shareholders still looked fairly unimpressed, but he noticed a few of them leaning forward to better see the display. Quinn smiled again. "You know what? That's lame," he said, swiping away the ball bearings so that they drifted to the side of the room. "Let's step it up, show you what this baby can _really_ do."

He nodded to Madigan, who was busily configuring the gravity fields to his measurements. After a moment, Quinn felt himself being lifted up into the air. As he looked around the room, he was satisfied to see everyone's faces lit up in awe. He held out his arms, and the increasing drone of the machine ringing in his ears gave him renewed energy. "What you're looking at right now is the future. No more will we be subjected to the red tape that has bound us for so long. The balance of power has now been shifted to us. This is the birth of a new era, a new-"

Quinn's voice was cut off by the sound of rapid beeping coming from behind him. His smile froze on his face again, and he tried to cover up his alarm with a laugh. "Okay, Madigan, you can, uh, lower me back to the ground now."

"Sir," he replied quietly. "It won't stop accelerating. The fields-"

"Then turn it off," Quinn ordered. "Now."

Madigan frantically pressed a few keys. The machine behind the glass continued to whirl, increasing in speed. After a few agonizing seconds, the technician looked up at Quinn, his face a mask of terror. "I can't," he mouthed, shaking his head.

"Is this what you call working?" Quinn heard one of his shareholders ask.

Quinn turned back to the screens in the room. "We're just having a few technical difficulties, but I can assure you, the gravitonium-"

He was interrupted once more as he suddenly dropped to the floor. The generator continued to whirr behind the glass, accelerating as the screens turned black and the lights in the room flickered off. Quinn quickly regained his footing. "What the hell is going on?" he demanded.

"Sir, the compound's lost power."

"Damn it," Quinn breathed as his eyes flicked over to the still-spinning gravitonium, the silver substance providing the only light in the dim room. He pointed to one of his men. "Get Tartleton in here," he shouted over the roar of the machine. "Tell him we need to manually shut down the generator."

Before any of his men could move, the glass window shattered outwards, forcing Quinn to the ground. As silence fell on the room, he used his elbows to crawl near the doorway, wincing at the sharp edges cutting into his arms. "Smith, get the chopper ready. We have to evacuate again."

Smith moved to help him up, but Quinn swatted his hand away in annoyance as he gingerly picked himself off the floor. "Didn't I tell you to-"

Quinn immediately stopped talking, his eyes falling on the gaping hole at the back of the room. The generator had stopped moving, which would have been good news if the gravitonium hadn't given him an even bigger problem.

It was completely gone.

"Where's my gravitonium?" Quinn asked slowly.

"With all due respect, sir…maybe you should do more testing before trying a demonstration. I mean, this is like the third time-"

"Shut up, Smith," Quinn muttered, turning around to give him a glare.

"You should listen to him, Ian," a voice spoke from behind him. Quinn felt a chill run down his spine as he slowly spun on his heel. The voice continued to speak from the shadows. "That always was your problem, after all. So eager to show off to the world without giving thought to the consequences of your actions, to who or what might get hurt in the wake of your failure."

Quinn strained his eyes to better see the newcomer, not daring to believe his ears. All at once the lights came back on, and Quinn felt his jaw go slack.

"That's…not possible."

* * *

"You're fidgeting again."

Skye tried not to groan in frustration. She really did. But she'd been sitting in the Bus's cargo hold for what felt like forever and five o'clock in the morning was an ungodly hour and she couldn't figure out how to turn her damn thoughts off and she was pretty sure her left foot had fallen asleep.

"I just don't understand why we have to do this." Her eyes opened almost of their own accord and fell on the person sitting across from her. "Sorry," she mumbled as she looked down at her lap, ashamed of herself. The Cavalry had taken the time out of her own schedule in order to train her, and if Skye wasn't careful, she'd be left to fend for herself. Again.

May sighed. "Don't apologize." Skye glanced up, surprised to hear gentleness in her voice instead of the usual annoyance. "Meditation is a difficult practice, but it'll come easier with time."

"No, I get that, but I just thought you'd be teaching me how to…you know, actually fight."

May simply raised an eyebrow. "You wanted to be a Zen warrior, remember?" Skye found herself smiling, the amusement of May actually saying the phrase "Zen warrior" managing to overcome her embarrassment. "This is the Zen part."

Skye nodded, even though she still didn't really understand. She'd never been good at sitting still, and she didn't think that that would change anytime soon. May seemed to pick up on her hesitation because she took a breath. "Let me ask you something." She paused again, seeming to weigh her words carefully before she spoke. "When Agent Coulson was missing, and you left the Bus to investigate on your own, what did you do?"

Skye couldn't help but wonder if she was walking into a trick question. "I…pretended to be…you?"

May smirked. "After that. How did you find out Coulson's location?"

"I hacked into Vanchat's financials."

"And you were under pressure, right? Rathman signaled his security team and if you hadn't been successful, you would've been caught."

Skye was confused. "Well, yeah, but-"

"How about when you were at that diner with Ward?" Skye swallowed, but May didn't appear to notice her discomfort. "You didn't know how long it would be before he figured out what you were up to, or whether or not he would kill you if he did. How did you manage to signal the police?"

Skye shook her head. "Tipping the cops off wasn't the hard part. The _hard_ part was sitting there pretending like everything was okay-"

"Exactly," May interrupted. "Working with computers is natural for you. You don't need to think about it. It's an instinct, an instinct that kicks in _exactly when you need it to_." Something clicked in Skye's head as she finally seemed to understand what May was getting at. "When you're trying to defend yourself, there's no time to think. Instinct takes over. If you can't focus and breathe properly now, in a controlled situation, you're going to have a hell of a lot more trouble doing it out there." May paused, and Skye felt the weight of her words start to sink in. "And _that_ is why we're meditating."

Skye nodded again, finding herself strangely inspired by the Cavalry's pep talk. With a new determination, she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. Almost at once, his voice rang in her head.

_"You and I aren't that different."_

Damn. She was _not_ good at this.

"You're trying too hard," May said gently.

Skye sighed, severely disappointed in herself. She felt the edges of her eyes burning and looked away, blinking rapidly. There was no way in _hell_ she was going to cry in front of Agent Melinda May.

"Whenever I have trouble concentrating-" May began, only to stop short at seeing Skye's undoubtedly skeptical expression. "It happens."

"Somehow I have a hard time believing that."

May ignored her. "Do a full body check. Start from your head and work downwards. It'll give you something to focus on."

Skye took a deep breath, not really expecting it to work but resolved to at least give an attempt. She took her time, concentrating on each individual body part. Crown. Forehead. Eyes. Ears. Nose. For the first few minutes, it was actually pretty helpful. As long as she was completely focused on her task, she didn't have room to think about anything else.

The trouble came when she got to her lips.

She fought it with every fiber of her being. No matter how hard she tried, though, she couldn't help but think of the last person that had touched them.

_"Maybe I'll just take what I want, wake up something inside of you."_

Her fists clenched together as she felt bile threaten to rise up in her throat. Thankfully May noticed. May noticed everything.

"You're thinking about him."

Skye forced a laugh. "I'm thinking that strength training might have been brutal, but at least he never made me do any of this."

The look she received in reply was so familiar that Skye almost smiled. Using her former supervising officer as a basis for anything was probably not the best idea.

"Ward was never able to meditate," May said, the crinkle near her eyes telling Skye that there had probably been many attempts. "He always claimed it was physically impossible for him."

Skye scoffed. "Can you imagine? Ward sitting still for more than two minutes? I mean, God forbid if he actually has to think about all the sick, twisted, Nazi crap he's ever done. Who knows? He might've realized he was an evil douchebag long before any of us had the chance to." She'd meant to give her retort flippantly, but bitterness managed to creep into her voice near the end.

May looked hesitant. "People…believe what they need to believe-"

"To justify their actions, I know," Skye finished, rolling her eyes. "That still doesn't make it okay."

"No. It doesn't," May agreed. "But that frustration you're feeling? You need to let it go."

"I can't _not_ feel," Skye protested. "It doesn't work for me."

"That's not what I said. Meditation is not about desensitizing yourself. You don't have to block your emotions. But you _do_ have to consciously let them go when they come."

The hopelessness of the situation nearly drove Skye to abandon the task and head back to her nice, warm, comfortable bed. But if she was ever going to make something of herself, she needed to do this. She needed to prove to herself that she was capable of fighting for something she wanted. And if she could succeed where Ward couldn't, well, that was just an added bonus.

She tried once again to center herself and slow down her breathing. Her focus settled where she'd been interrupted, and as she struggled to banish any and all thoughts about kissing Ward, she began to mull over what other (better) things her lips could be used for. She used them for smiling, right? Smiling and laughing and not kissing Ward and saying nice things and-

_"We don't know all the facts."_

_ "You want a fact, Fitz? Ward murders people."_

Skye suddenly felt claustrophobic, like if she had to sit there for one second longer she would spontaneously combust.

"I think that's enough for today," May said crisply.

Even though Skye wanted nothing more than to get up or run outside or scream or do _anything _other than sit in silence, she remained where she was. She opened her mouth to argue, but May seemed to know what she was going to say. "We'll continue tomorrow. It's been a rough couple of days…for everyone." Skye noticed a sadness in May's eyes that she knew was a reflection of her own. "We're all worried about Fitz."

"And Simmons," Skye added quietly.

May nodded. "And Simmons."

There was a heavy pause, and Skye tried to force away her toxic thoughts. She was about to stand up when she figured that if anyone would know, it would be the Cavalry. "Hey, can I ask you a question?"

Skye took May's raised eyebrow as an implied yes. "Do you really think Coulson can do it? Rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D., I mean."

Something indecipherable passed over May's face, but before she could reply, they were interrupted by the sound of pounding footsteps coming up the lowered gangway. Skye was surprised to see that the sun had risen to a level higher than she'd been expecting; she and May must have been sitting there longer than she'd thought. She was even more surprised to see the man jogging towards them, glistening as if he'd been running for a good hour.

"Morning, sleepyheads," Triplett greeted them, grabbing a bottle of water from the cooler and draining nearly half of it in one gulp. "It's about time you guys got up."

"Oh, shut up, Trip," Skye joked, standing up and trying not to let her face show any discomfort. Her left foot was definitely asleep. "We've been awake just as long as you have."

"That's funny," he said with mock seriousness after finishing off the bottle. "I didn't see you at breakfast."

Skye still didn't know Triplett very well, but she knew him well enough to know that he was lying through his teeth. "Yeah, right," she scoffed.

He broke into a grin. "Okay, you caught me. I was just gonna go make some actually, if you guys want to come."

Right on cue, Skye's stomach growled. "Count me in."

She and Trip collectively glanced over at May. "I could eat," she smirked.

"Sweet. We'll have to make it quick, though," Trip said as they began heading down the ramp towards the bunker. "The boss man called. Guess what we get to do today?"

Skye groaned, and she was secretly pleased to see that May looked just as excited as she felt. All of a sudden, the idea of meditating was somehow much more preferable to the day's impending activity.

Orientation.

* * *

**A/N**: This story can serve as a stand-alone, but I will probably include references to events/characters in From the Flames of the Past/Out of the Ashes. It shouldn't be necessary to read those before this, but they are there if you would like to read them.

Thank you so much for reading and, as always, feedback is very much appreciated! :)


	2. Chapter 2

_She was in her favorite dream again. _

_Or, at least, that's what it seemed like._

_Mostly everything was the same. She was still floating in space, almost completely surrounded by the stars. It was fitting, really. Never before had she been so consciously aware of her place within the expanding cosmos, how her atoms had combined in just the right way to bring her to where she was at that exact moment. In the grand scheme of things, she knew that she was just an infinitesimal speck on the timeline of the universe. And yet…every molecule that formed the person she was had a role to play, a role that began before she was born and a role that would continue after she died. _

_Whether short or long, her life mattered. She mattered. The thought usually gave her peace._

_But something was wrong._

_The sight before her was distorted for some reason, almost as if she were looking up at the stars through rippled glass. There was a rope bound around her waist, which wasn't terribly concerning. It usually made an appearance in the dream, the only thing keeping her from drifting further into the void of space. Sometimes, she felt the urge to remove the rope, but whenever she made the attempt, she would always feel a gentle hand rest atop hers, making sure the cord remained secure. Normally, she didn't mind simply drifting there._

_But normally, she was able to breathe._

_She suddenly realized why her vision was distorted. She was underwater._

_Frantically, she tried to untie the rope from her waist. Her limbs felt like lead, presumably from being dragged down by the water but more likely from the paralysis one often experienced within dreams. Knowing she was asleep didn't mitigate her alarm, though. Because even though she was dreaming, she still couldn't breathe. _

_As hard as she struggled, the rope wouldn't budge. It actually seemed to be dragging her further beneath the surface. Just as she thought she was going to drown, the grip on her waist loosened slightly, and she felt a familiar hand on hers. Only this time, it wasn't the soothing touch she was accustomed to that usually kept her from floating away. This hand grabbed at hers in desperation, pulling her down. Her first instinct was to push the hand away, but curiosity compelled her to turn around._

_She should have known it would be him. She should have known that the desperate hand was his, silently begging her to look at him one last time before he let go. This was her nightmare now. Because of course he had untied the rope for her. Of course he was doing all he could to help her escape. He had always been able to do what she couldn't._

_But that was the thing with them. That give-and-take had always gone both ways. And there was absolutely no way she was going to leave him there._

_She grabbed onto his hand, but he was already sinking. His fingers slipped out of hers one by one and she found herself being pulled towards the surface, screaming as the sound of exploding glass filled her ears. _

"Simmons," she heard a distant voice murmur. Jemma sat up abruptly, gasping as if she had actually just been underwater. Everything was out of focus for a few seconds as she tried to figure out where she was and what had awoken her.

The first thing she saw was his motionless body lying on the bed in front of her. The wounds on his face had been carefully cleaned and disinfected, and his left arm, now set within a cast, rested serenely over his stomach in a sling. If anyone else had seen him at that moment, they might have thought that he was just sleeping. But Jemma had seen Fitz asleep before, sprawled out haphazardly on one of the lab benches after working late on one of his inventions or curled up on her bunk during one of their all-night study sessions back at the Academy. He was a sound sleeper and a creature of comfort, although how anyone could sleep in the positions he did and be comfortable was still a mystery to Jemma.

But this was different.

Jemma nervously glanced up at the screens placed on the opposite site of his bed. The steady beeps coming from his heart monitor, as well as the infrequent but regular bursts shown on the EEG display, should have given her some form of relief. But the way he was lying there, pale and unmoving, kept the terror of her dream fresh in her mind. She was no longer sleeping, but that hardly mattered. Her life was a nightmare now.

How could he have been so stupid?

Jemma clenched her fists in the clean white sheets of the bed as she tried to slow down her breathing. She suddenly became aware of a small hand running fingers through her hair, gently disentangling some of the knots. The rushing sound in her ears faded, and she turned around in panic to see Skye's worried face looking down on her.

"Simmons, hey, it's okay, it's just me," she was saying softly. "You're okay." She quickly removed her hand from Jemma's hair at seeing her alarm, but after a moment hesitantly placed it back on her shoulder.

Jemma was still disoriented from sleep, but at least she seemed to be breathing normally again. "What time is it?" she asked blearily.

"It's, uh, a little after nine, I think," Skye responded, not quite meeting Jemma's gaze. "Listen, um, I can stay with Fitz for a little bit if you wanted to go lie down or something."

Jemma had her mouth open to protest, but Skye seemed to know what she was thinking. "Simmons, you've been in here all night." Her eyes accidentally flicked over to Jemma's, and Jemma saw so much pity in them that she nearly turned away from Skye in disgust. As if _she_ was the one that needed to be pitied right now.

Skye's voice remained gentle as she continued. "I brought some of your stuff from the Bus and put it in the room next door. If you want, I can-"

"That's…quite all right, Skye," Jemma interjected, giving Skye her most convincing smile and trying not to sound too irritated. "Really, thank you, but…I think I'd rather stay here a bit longer."

Jemma could tell that Skye wanted to argue further, but something in her expression must have stopped her. "Okay," she nodded, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Are you…are you hungry?"

The very thought of food made Jemma feel as if she was going to vomit. She shook her head as she turned back to Fitz, not trusting her voice at the moment. Part of her hoped that Skye would leave so that she could be alone, but a larger part than she would have expected hoped that she would stay and keep her company. She didn't know if she could handle being alone with an unconscious Fitz right now.

She heard the sound of quiet scraping as Skye pulled up a chair next to hers and sat down. "How's he doing?" she asked.

Jemma sighed. "Honestly? I don't know, Skye."

"But…you said he was only without oxygen for a couple minutes. I thought-"

"I thought so, too," Jemma replied, absentmindedly grabbing onto Fitz's hand and struggling to keep her voice from trembling. "We weren't very deep, not really. About 90 feet or so. But Director Fury's medical team was with him for a long time and cerebral hypoxia is a very unpredictable condition and we won't know the full extent of the…" She broke off and took a shaky breath, determined not to break down. "Of the damage until he wakes up."

"But…he's gonna be fine," Skye said uncertainly. "Right?"

Jemma couldn't bring herself to answer, and instead silently traced circles on the back of Fitz's hand. As much as her optimistic nature wanted to reassure both Skye and herself, she knew that Fitz should have woken up by now. If Skye was right, and it really was nine in the morning, then he'd been unconscious for over twelve hours. She didn't need to be a medical doctor to know that his chances of a quick recovery were diminishing.

Thankfully, she was saved from responding as the door swung open. One of the doctors from Fury's team cautiously entered the room and stopped short, presumably surprised at seeing Jemma awake, as well as Fitz's new visitor. "Oh, don't mind me," he smiled shyly, making his way over to Fitz. "I'm just checking up on him."

Jemma sat up straight and reluctantly released Fitz's hand. "Yes, of course. Thank you, Doctor."

She and Skye sat in awkward silence as he adjusted a couple of the electrodes on Fitz's head and examined the read-outs, jotting down a few notes. After a few minutes, he gave them a small nod before heading towards the exit.

"Um, excuse me. Dr. Russell?"

Jemma wasn't quite sure, but the doctor's shoulders seemed to tense up a little before he turned back around. "Yes, Agent Simmons?"

"Sorry, it's just…is everything all right?"

Dr. Russell nodded a bit too emphatically. "Yep. Everything's, uh, looking normal. But, of course, we'll be able to see more once he wakes up. Which I think should be very soon."

Jemma felt her heart sink. "Oh. Okay, then. Thank you."

He avoided her eyes as he nodded again, looking uncomfortable as he shuffled out the door.

"Well, that was convincing," Skye said sarcastically as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. "Could he be any less cryptic?"

"Not only that, but those were the same words he said last night, _both_ times I asked him. It's like they don't know I'm aware of exactly what they're doing every time they come in here."

Jemma could almost feel Skye looking at her with that maddeningly sympathetic expression of hers. "Yeah, um…" she began hesitantly. "Why aren't you the one monitoring him, Simmons?"

Jemma shook her head, trying to hold back her tears. "I'm not actually that kind of doctor, Skye. And…Agent Coulson doesn't think I'm…" She paused, uncertain of the word she was looking for.

"Doesn't think you're what?" Skye asked in a surprisingly defensive tone. "Fit for the job? Is he crazy? You…you saved my life after Quinn shot me! You've stitched us all up who knows how many times. If anyone should be in charge of-"

"No, he's right, Skye," Jemma interrupted her, even though Coulson hadn't used those exact words. He'd always had an unwavering faith in her ability, but even she had to concede that she was somewhat compromised in this particular situation. "These doctors know what they're doing."

Skye scoffed. "That guy didn't sound like he knew what he was doing."

Despite her worry, Jemma laughed a little. "Dr. Russell is one of the primary reasons that Director Fury is still alive, Skye. I wouldn't underestimate him just yet." She sighed, and even though the words hurt to get out, she knew she had to say them. "Besides, after what happened, I'm not entirely sure that my care is the best option for him right now."

Out of the corner of her eye, Jemma could see Skye fidgeting, almost as if she were gathering the courage to ask something. Oh, dear. She braced herself, already knowing what Skye was going to ask.

"You know, um…I never got the full story of what actually happened back there." Skye hesitated. "Did…you wanna talk about it?"

Jemma very decidedly did _not_ want to talk about it. She had given a very brief report to Coulson soon after he'd arrived with the team at the Playground, and even then she had just given him the bare minimum of what he'd needed to know. He'd been patient with her, and hadn't pushed for more when she'd stopped, seeming to know that she would disclose whatever was necessary. Right now, staring at Fitz's immobile form, she didn't think she had the strength to relive the experience again.

But she knew how much Skye cared about Fitz, and vice versa. She deserved to know at least what he'd done. Jemma took a deep breath.

"We thought we were going to die down there, Skye. By all accounts, we should have." Her hand had found Fitz's again. "But…we found a way to explode the glass using some of the medical supplies, and…well, there was only enough pressure in the oxygen mask for one person."

"Oh my God," she heard Skye breathe, and the tears Jemma was feebly keeping at bay blurred her vision.

"He didn't even stop to think of…anything else. He just went ahead and forced me to take it." Her tears still hadn't fallen, but she focused on the faint pulse she felt in Fitz's hand as she continued. "Anyway, it all happened so fast. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He just…exploded the window like it was nothing and tried to bloody sacrifice himself-"

"Of course he did," Skye said quietly. Jemma turned in surprise to see that even though her eyes were also brimming with tears, she had a small smile on her face. "And of course you didn't let him."

"Well, I wasn't going to just _leave_ him there. He should have…" Jemma's voice trailed off as something in front of Skye's shirt caught her eye. "Where did you get that?" she asked, pointing to the lanyard.

Skye glanced down in confusion until she noticed what Jemma was referring to. "Oh, uh…Eric had us go through orientation again." She winced. "Billy, I mean. God, that's gonna be weird for a little while. They're _so similar_, it's…kind of disturbing, actually." Skye seemed genuinely troubled by how much the new Agent Koenig resembled his recently deceased twin brother, and Jemma had to admit that there was something eerie about the situation. But she could tell that Skye was trying to distract her from the fact that she hadn't gotten her lanyard yet.

"Oh," she replied, beginning to stand up. "Well, I suppose I'd better go do that now then."

"No, no, no," Skye said quickly as she placed a hand on Jemma's arm. "It's fine. Really, Simmons. I'll go get it for you."

Jemma was confused. "But…don't I also need to be questioned?"

Skye shook her head. "Coulson says you don't have to."

"And…Agent Koenig was okay with that?" she asked doubtfully.

Skye had a smirk on her face. "Not really, but Coulson took care of it. You missed a very entertaining breakfast."

Jemma felt her cheeks burning. As much as it was touching that Coulson had stood up for her, she couldn't help but feel somewhat annoyed that she was being given special treatment. "But surely he needs proof that I'm not-"

"HYDRA?" Skye asked incredulously. "Because getting dropped out of an airplane by HYDRA isn't proof?" She laughed a little. "If that's not good enough for Billy, then he's just gonna have to deal with it."

If anything, Jemma was now more determined than ever to go earn her lanyard. "Well, all that fuss was hardly necessary, Skye. I've handled a lie detector before. I can do it again."

"Yeah, but-"

Jemma briefly closed her eyes. "I'll be fine, Skye. But…" She glanced over at Fitz. "Would you mind-"

Skye didn't look completely sold on the idea of her going through orientation, but she nodded after a moment. "Yeah, of course, Simmons," she said quietly.

"All right then." Jemma stood up and did her best to straighten her crumpled blouse. She realized that she probably should take a shower or at least change her clothes before heading over to see Koenig, but she was afraid she would lose her resolve if she took too long. Just before she reached the door, she turned back around to look at Fitz once more. He looked so peaceful laying there, his face untroubled by the horrors he had gone through. For Jemma, though, the sight was hardly reassuring. That peacefulness looked dangerously close to a different kind of peace, one that didn't involve his heart beating.

She hesitated, the fear of leaving him keeping her frozen near the doorway. The only comfort she felt was seeing Skye vigilantly next to his bed, one hand enclosed in his. "I'm not going anywhere, Simmons," she said without looking up.

Jemma nodded, more for her own reassurance than anything else, and exited the room.

Ten minutes later, she was sitting across from Billy Koenig, trying not to appear too uncomfortable as he configured Fury's contraption to her biometrics. He had halfheartedly refused her request at first, most likely out of respect for Coulson, but she could tell that he was somewhat pleased by her insistence. She thought she understood, at least in part. Following protocol to the letter was a habit of hers as well, even if protocol wasn't quite in the picture anymore under their current circumstances.

"Okay, you've obviously done this before, so just relax and it'll be over before you know it." He gave her a tight smile as he pressed a few keys on the display in front of him. She nodded, hoping the assessment would go as easily as last time. Now that she was sitting in the chair, she wasn't entirely certain she could handle a more intense interrogation. "All right, we'll just start with a couple easy questions, try and get a baseline. Can I have your full name?"

She took a breath. "Jemma Louise Simmons."

His eyes examined the incoming graphs. "Okay…good," he muttered, tapping on the screen. "You actually have a last name. Makes my life a little easier."

She was still nervous, but Jemma couldn't keep her lips from curling up into a small smile at the thought of Skye trying to explain her lack of a surname. Even Jemma didn't know what name Skye had been born with. It didn't really bother her, though. Skye was a part of her family now, in some strange way, and had shown time and again how much she valued their team. If Skye was the name she preferred, then that was all that mattered. And it suited her, really.

Billy took a couple more seconds to adjust the signals to her baseline. "Eye color?"

"Hazel."

"Have you ever been married?"

"No, sir."

"Please list your immediate family."

Jemma's heart sped up a little faster. "Mum and Dad, both still alive. And a sister."

"Ah, yes," Billy nodded, briefly glancing up at her before turning back to the screen. "Ellie Simmons. She is also an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., is that correct?"

"Formerly so, sir," Jemma replied. "She was in the last graduating class at SciTech before…well, before HYDRA took over." She saw something dark flash through Billy's eyes, so she pushed forward before he could voice any of his suspicions. "HYDRA kidnapped her, sir, and they…they tortured her for information." Jemma fought to control her voice. "She refused to help them, and almost died at their hands. We managed to rescue her, but she was too weak to continue with us, so she left the Division."

She forced herself to keep her eyes fixed on Billy's, and his expression softened after a moment. "I'm very sorry to hear that. Have you…spoken to her recently?"

"Not since she went to work for Stark Industries, sir," she replied, silently kicking herself. She would have to ask Coulson or Skye about setting up a call soon.

"Stark?" Billy asked in mild surprise. "Huh. I never would have pegged him as the type to be interested in alien biology, especially after New York. But I guess it's a strange world we live in now."

Jemma managed to give him a weak smile, hoping that this line of questioning was drawing to a close. He waved his hand. "Okay, okay, let's, uh…move on, shall we? Can you tell me the difference between an egg and a rock?"

Jemma knew fully well that déjà vu was simply an anomaly of memory caused by her brain's inability to construct a complete perception of an experience. But there was no doubt in her mind that she had undergone this exact same test before. It didn't help that she had examined the dead body of her current proctor's identical twin. And it also didn't help that she had to attempt to answer this stupid question a second time.

"That's…that's not even a fair comparison. There are literally an _infinite _number of differences between the two. Using chemical makeup alone, I couldn't even begin to scratch the surface-"

"Okay, okay, I get it," Billy cut her off, holding up a hand. "You know, it's…whatever. Have you ever heard of Project Insight?"

"No, sir," she began, but immediately corrected herself. "Well, aside from its having been mentioned in my other assessment, the one…back at Providence." She wasn't exactly sure how Billy was dealing with the news of his brother's death, but she figured it would probably be in her best interest not to pour salt on the wound.

He didn't seem particularly bothered, though, and moved on, apparently satisfied with her answer. "Have you ever had any contact with Alexander Pierce?"

"No."

"You-" he started, before stopping abruptly. "Oh."

"What?" she asked.

He shook his head and gave her a smile, but he was avoiding her eyes. "Never mind. I'm just gonna…skip that one."

Jemma felt her stomach harden, but the galvanometers on her fingers kept her from clenching her fists. She was already tired of being treated as if she would break at the slightest provocation. "It's all right, sir. I can answer the question."

Billy chuckled nervously. "Really, it's not a big deal."

She set her jaw. "Ask me the question. Please," she said, somewhat surprised by her own assertion. She knew which question was coming. Was she even ready to answer it?

There was a long pause as Billy seemed to weigh his options. "Very well," he said slowly, glancing down at the papers in front of him. He took a breath. "You wash up on a deserted island, alone. Sitting on the sand is a box." He sighed as he glanced up at her, and she could see the uncertainty on his face. "What is in that box?"

Almost instantly, tears welled up in Jemma's eyes. She was furious with herself for her lack of control, not to mention disappointed by her previous answer. Had she actually chosen the TARDIS as the one thing she could have on a deserted island? In theory, of course she would want a machine that could travel in both time and space. But the fact of the matter was that the TARDIS didn't exist. Where had the Doctor been when she was trapped at the bottom of the sea? Where was the TARDIS when she'd actually needed it? Jemma was a pragmatist, and yet she had chosen the least practical item in the universe to help her escape. How on earth would a fictional device be able to give her hope? The solution was simple. It couldn't.

This time she would give the answer she should have given before. Because it really was the only answer. The only thing that she would choose to have with her if she had to be alone. The only thing she would need to help her find a way to get off the island. The only person in the world that had been able to give her hope when she'd had absolutely none.

"Fitz," she finally managed to get out, her voice shaking slightly. The rest of her signals must have properly conveyed her conviction, though, because Billy simply nodded before continuing. By the look on his face and the way he was actively looking down at the screen in front of him, he didn't seem surprised by her answer.

"All right, we're almost done here. You're doing great."

Jemma fought the urge to roll her eyes. As much as she wanted to prove that she could handle being interrogated, she was ready for the exam to be over.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. no longer exists, at least in the same capacity that it has existed in the past. Right now, the Division is in pieces and has been labeled a terrorist organization. It is currently unclear as to whether or not the agency can be rebuilt. So…the question of the day is…why are _you_ here?"

Jemma met his gaze. "Sir, I'm sure that no matter what I say about my loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. or-"

"Are you?" he asked, interrupting her.

"Sorry?"

"Loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Her defensive affirmation was about to pass through her lips when she stopped herself. "I'm…loyal to Agent Coulson, sir."

To her surprise, Billy smiled. "It's Director now, actually."

Jemma was baffled. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah," he chuckled. "Pretty sweet, huh? Fury finally decided to hand over the reins. Probably figured Coulson could get more work done on the ground or something, what with Fury being presumed dead and all." His eyes narrowed. "Now that I think about it, everyone thinks Coulson's dead, too. Well," he cleared his throat. "That probably won't last too long."

Jemma was somewhat caught off-guard by the new development, but she couldn't really say she was shocked. "I guess I am loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D. then," she said softly.

"Yes, you are," Billy announced, reading the incoming signals. "But…there's something else, isn't there?"

Perhaps it was her recent run-in with HYDRA, but she felt affronted, even though Billy didn't appear to be accusing her of anything. "Sir, I'm only alive right now because of S.H.I.E.L.D. If it hadn't been for Fury or Coulson, I wouldn't even-"

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said, holding up his hand again. "There's another reason you're here, another reason that trumps _all_ the other reasons you could have for being here. So…what is it?"

There was something in his expression that told Jemma he already knew her answer. Her voice didn't waver this time.

"Fitz."

She held her breath as she waited for his response. She knew her answer wasn't what he'd probably wanted to hear, but it was the truth. She wasn't HYDRA, and her allegiance was to S.H.I.E.L.D. But Fitz came first. He always had.

Billy held her gaze for a few agonizing seconds before he smiled. "Congratulations, Agent Simmons. Let's go get you a lanyard."

* * *

Coulson glanced up from his desk as she knocked lightly on the door. He gave her a brief smile before turning back to the papers he was examining. Since the night before, he'd been going through a large number of the Playground's files, looking for anything that could be helpful in trying to start S.H.I.E.L.D. back up. This wasn't anything unusual. Coulson had a habit of burying himself in work, especially if Fury himself gave him the task and even more especially if there was something he was trying to atone for. May wouldn't have been overly concerned if she hadn't known him better. He was wearing his customary suit and tie, but his face looked haggard and he was slightly hunched over.

"Did you sleep last night?" she asked, closing the door behind her and making her way over to the desk.

Coulson didn't look up at her again, but she could hear the smirk in his voice. "Says the one up at the crack of dawn every day." He sighed before leaning back in his chair. "So you're training Skye now, huh?"

May shrugged. "She's out of an S.O. Seemed only fitting if she's going to be out in-"

"No, I think it's a great idea," he said, a glint in his eye. He stood up to put some of the papers in a filing cabinet. "How'd she like meditating?"

May hesitated. "It might take a while, but she'll get there."

Coulson was smiling when he turned back around. "So about as much as you liked it then?"

She tried to glare at him, but she couldn't keep from smirking. "Who knows? Give her ten years and they might start calling her the Cavalry."

May regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Coulson's smile faltered. He'd always been careful not to use that phrase around her, knowing what memories it brought back. "Relax, Phil. I'm kidding."

"Yeah, I know you're kidding," he replied, looking at her with poorly disguised worry. "That's why it was so weird."

She glanced away from him, annoyed by his concern when he had a thousand other things to be concerned about. Her eyes fell on a few papers he had left on the desk. There was some kind of strange writing on it that looked oddly familiar, but before she could place it, he slipped the papers into a folder and locked them in a drawer. She could tell he was trying to be surreptitious about it, but he must have known such a thing would be impossible with her standing right there. "Anyways, we should-"

"Are you all right, Phil?" she asked softly, cutting him off.

He picked up the toolbox Fury had given him and slipped it into his pocket. "I'm fine," he said unconvincingly.

May rarely felt the need to push, especially when it came to Coulson, but he'd been worrying her lately. It was obvious that he hadn't slept well the night before, and now he was hiding things from her. Normally, she might have let it slide, but with the new daunting task set before him by Fury, not to mention the uncertainty of Fitz's condition, she knew he probably needed a break. They all did.

"Phil…" she began, but before she could say anything else, his phone rang.

"Coulson," he said, holding the receiver up to his ear. There were a couple moments of silence as he listened to the other end, but his blanched face and terrified eyes told May all she needed to know. "Be right there."

She was out the door before he'd hung up the phone.

* * *

Jemma carefully ran the comb through her hair for the third time. After Billy had given her her lanyard, she'd decided it would probably be best for everyone if she took a few minutes to attend to her own personal hygiene. Her shower had been fairly short, because the thought of being in the water for longer than was absolutely necessary sent her body into panic mode. She supposed that was to be expected, though, at least for a while. Water had taken nearly everything away from her.

As Jemma pulled her hair back into a ponytail, she absently wondered why she was taking so long. She needed to get back to Fitz, but some small part of her, the part that was procrastinating right now, was terrified of staring at his still face again. He'd looked so pale and fragile, not at all like the strong, vibrant Fitz she knew. She didn't know if she could handle seeing him like that for much longer, wondering if she would ever see his eyes again, or whether those words he'd spoken to her in the pod would be his last-

She shook her head, forbidding herself from thinking like that. He would be fine. Fitz would be fine. She wasn't going to let him go. Not now. He wasn't finished yet. _They_ weren't finished yet.

Just then, she heard the sound of a commotion coming from the room next door. Everything seemed to slow down as Skye burst through her door.

"Something's wrong," Skye gasped. She continued to speak, but Jemma couldn't hear anything, the sounds around her fading to give way to a lone beep ringing in her ears. She darted out into the corridor, her footfalls matching the pounding of her heartbeat, and skidded to a stop just as she entered Fitz's room. Someone was talking to her – a doctor, Coulson, she wasn't sure – but there was only one person that held her attention. At first glance, Fitz looked just like he had when she'd left him. But Jemma knew what she was looking for. She stared at his chest for what felt like hours, waiting for him to show her some small sign that he was still breathing.

All at once, the sounds around her came back at full force. There were people calling her name, and someone was ordering someone to do something, but there was one sound Jemma heard above all the rest, the same long beeping she'd heard ringing in her ears earlier. Slowly she looked up at Fitz's heart monitor, and she felt her stomach drop.

It was a flat line.

* * *

**A/N: **I apologize for the cliffhanger, and I would never want to cause distress for any of my readers, so I will say that the archive warnings for this fic (or lack thereof) still apply. So stay tuned. ;) Thank you so much for reading, as always!


	3. Chapter 3

Seeing the unchanging horizon displayed upon Fitz's heart monitor woke Jemma out of her stupor, both the one she had entered when Skye had come rushing into her room and the one she had been stoically residing in since she'd arrived at the Playground with a barely-alive Fitz. She realized just then that she had been afraid: afraid of some things she couldn't quite name and some that she could. Afraid that Fitz might not make it. Afraid that if (_when_) he awoke, he might not be the same Leo Fitz she'd grown alongside since that fateful day at the Academy. Afraid of everything left unspoken between them.

And afraid of her own inability.

Upon their arrival, she had allowed Fury's medical team to oversee Fitz's recovery, not only because of their renowned proficiency, but also because she had been terrified that she would make a mistake and hurt Fitz even more. She already hated herself for her failure to stop him in the pod. What if by some similar fault in her power she became responsible for his…

She couldn't even think the word, couldn't even entertain the possibility. Of course, she had encountered the inevitability of mortality dozens of times in the lab (she'd even been faced with her own mortality in a way that still came back to haunt her sometimes), but for some reason, she couldn't fathom a world without Fitz.

Or at least _her_ world without Fitz.

It just didn't make sense.

But her fear wasn't important anymore. As much as the thought petrified her, Fitz was dying. His heart had stopped. If she didn't do something right now, she would not only have to live the rest of her life without her best friend, but also with the knowledge that it had been her fault.

"Out of the way!" she ordered, ignoring the protesting arms that tried to hold her back. She wasn't crying, wasn't even hysterical. Jemma was gone for the moment. She was Dr. Simmons now.

Somewhere in the background of her conscious awareness, she could hear Coulson arguing with the doctors, insisting that they allow her to work alongside them. Jemma ignored them, focusing on the task at hand. If her circumstances had been different, or had she been someone else, she might have even smiled. Fitz didn't have time for reasoning, and Coulson's longer-than-necessary tirade told Jemma that he knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't waxing poetic to cause a delay, and his words weren't distracting her. It was quite the opposite, really. Coulson was stalling for her, giving her the time she needed to work uninhibited.

She quickly scanned her eyes over the multitude of wires and monitors that surrounded Fitz. At first glance, everything looked as it should have (apart from the troubling information displayed on one particular screen, of course). But there was a small part of Jemma, a part that she had come to recognize as her instinct, that said something was missing. She wracked her brain, furious with herself for not seeing what was obviously right in front of her. What was missing?

"Agent Simmons," she heard one of the doctors say as he approached her from behind. One glance at Coulson's apologetic face told her that she had run out of time. "We need to prep him for defibrillation immediately. If you could please-"

Jemma's eyes widened in alarm. Before she could give the doctor a piece of her mind, though, Triplett stepped forward from behind May and Coulson.

"Are you crazy? He's flatlining. That's not gonna work."

Jemma didn't have time to thank Triplett or scold the incompetent doctor. Fitz needed her. She stepped closer to him, carefully folding her hands over his chest to begin cardiopulmonary resuscitation. An arm brushed up against hers, but it didn't try to pull her away.

"What do you need, Simmons?" Triplett asked.

"Point four milliliters of epinephrine. I'm starting CPR."

"Got it," Triplett replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him start to move away, but he stopped abruptly. "Wait."

Jemma barely suppressed a groan of frustration. "We don't have time to wait! Fitz needs-"

"Glucose," Triplett said pointedly, and she finally turned her head to look at him.

"What?" she breathed, but her eyes had already focused on the fluid-filled bags hanging near the side of Fitz's bed. Or, rather, the one lone bag of saline solution, keeping him hydrated. She couldn't believe her stupidity. How had she missed something so important?

Jemma felt something like anger start to boil in her stomach. Thankfully, Triplett had already moved into action, filling a syringe with dextrose, so she used her brief moment of delay to turn on Dr. Russell. "Why the _hell_ does he not have glucose?" she yelled.

Dr. Russell looked baffled, but Jemma could see realization begin to bloom in his eyes. "I-I don't understand. Why would-"

"_He's hypoglycemic_!" she shouted hysterically, and for a moment her voice seemed to reverberate throughout the room. When she turned back around, she realized that Triplett had spoken just as she had. A heavy silence descended upon the room, but Jemma hardly had time to address its countless occupants. There was only one occupant that mattered right now.

"Simmons?" Triplett was looking at her for approval, his hand holding the syringe above Fitz's arm. She met his eyes as she nodded, and in that moment she had never been more thankful for his presence. What would have happened if she hadn't noticed what had been missing? What good was her use as Fitz's best friend if she couldn't even ensure that he had his most basic necessities taken care of?

Some bloody best friend she was.

She and Triplett stood near Fitz's bedside, waiting with bated breath for the glucose to take hold. Perhaps they had been too late. She hadn't kept track of the time since she had entered the room. It had felt like hours, but she was fairly certain it had been less than a minute. Triplett remained by her side, and beyond the agonizing long beep of the heart monitor she could hear him muttering faintly under his breath. "Come on, buddy. We're not ready for you to go yet. Stay with us, man." Jemma let his words become her mantra, drowning out all her other thoughts, her thoughts of panic and desperation and guilt and –

The long beep stopped abruptly, perforated by shorter bursts of sound. She almost couldn't bring herself to look at the heart monitor, not wanting to witness what she couldn't bear to witness yet. Instead, she closed the distance between herself and Fitz, wrapping her hand around his unbroken one. As she laced her fingers with his, she felt a steady pulse. But was it his? Or her own? She couldn't tell. After a moment, though, a moment that could have stretched out into eternity, she felt a distinct rhythm independent of her own, pulsating in between the beats of her heart.

In sync. Like they'd always been.

Jemma swayed on the spot, nearly collapsing from relief. She felt a strong hand on her back, giving her added strength, and she managed to hold back the tears that had filled her eyes. Deciding to give herself one brief moment of respite, she pressed her lips to Fitz's pale fingers before working with Triplett to set up a steady flow of dextrose into Fitz's system. For the first time since they had been pulled from the sea, Jemma felt a twinge of hope. If Fitz's hypoglycemia had been the cause of his comatose state, then that meant he should wake up soon.

But that didn't change the fact that he'd been deprived for much longer than he should have been. Jemma couldn't even begin to contemplate a logical reason for such a discrepancy. She felt the boiling anger rise higher in her stomach, and after watching Fitz's chest rise and fall long enough to convince herself that he was still alive, she turned on her heel.

Jemma couldn't have said what she had been expecting to see when she turned around. If she was honest, she might have said she wasn't really expecting much of anything. All she'd intended was to politely (or not so politely) inquire why the bloody hell Fitz's glucose levels hadn't been monitored sufficiently. But when she spun around, she was met with the bewildered faces of the rest of her team, as well as Dr. Russell and a couple of the other doctors.

May and Skye looked simultaneously confused and relieved, but Coulson's expression was the worst. He was looking at Jemma as if he was seeing her for the first time, but also as if by some bizarre circumstance he'd been the cause of her pain.

"Fitz is…" he began, his eyes somewhat out of focus. "Hypoglycemic?"

Jemma felt the strange urge to laugh. What was he going on about?

"Sir," Triplett said, a hint of alarm in his voice. "You're not serious."

Coulson blinked, his eyes settling on Triplett. "_You_ knew?"

"Oh my word," Jemma breathed out slowly, and one look at May's and Skye's faces confirmed her suspicions. They were just as clueless as Coulson.

"You guys have been living with him for months!" Triplett didn't sound angry, just surprised. And rightly so. "How could you not have noticed?"

"I just…" Coulson replied, still looking baffled. "Thought he liked…food."

Jemma focused on taking deep breaths, which was probably a wise decision. It kept her from lashing out at Skye, who spoke up next. "Wait, hypoglycemic? You mean Fitz is, like, diabetic?"

"No, Skye," Jemma answered as gently as she could. "Fitz has a rare form of non-diabetic hypoglycemia caused by a small deficiency in his enzymes." She turned her head to look at Fitz, reassuring herself that he was still breathing, and grabbed onto his hand. "It's hereditary," she said softly.

Turning back around, she noticed that Skye looked on the verge of tears. "But…" she sniffed, glancing over Jemma's shoulder at the currently-stabilized Fitz. "How come he never said anything? I mean, I wouldn't have made fun of him for being hungry all the damn time if I'd just known-"

"He didn't like to talk about it," Jemma stopped her, not wanting Skye to blame herself for something that had been out of her control. She knew that Fitz had many reasons for not being too keen to discuss his condition. Even when they argued (which was a daily occurrence), he never threw it in her face, not even once. And he would have withstood torture before letting anyone, especially anyone on the team, think that he would ever use it as an excuse.

But surely they would have noticed _something_.

Right?

Skye was still distressed. "But if it was such a big deal, how come he didn't just-"

"That's the thing, Skye," Jemma interrupted. "Normally, Fitz's hypoglycemia isn't a problem. It's a very mild form of the condition, relatively speaking. He's usually fine as long as he eats enough. But he can't exactly do that when he's unconscious, now can he? The problem _here _is," she said forcefully, turning to speak to Dr. Russell, "why on earth his glucose levels weren't properly accounted for, when his hypoglycemia is explicitly documented in his medical records."

Jemma couldn't quite read the expression on Dr. Russell's face. He and the other two doctors had their eyes cast downwards, and none of them offered an immediate answer. The steady beeps coming from the heart monitor could be heard in the uncomfortable silence that followed. To Jemma's surprise, Skye, the last person she needed an explanation from, was the one to finally break it.

"You mean the medical records I erased?" she asked quietly, a slight tremor in her voice. Her face looked stricken as she continued to stare at Fitz.

Jemma shook her head. "What are you talking about? I don't-" All at once, she stopped herself, a small gasp escaping her lips. Skye met her eyes just then, and the pain Jemma saw in them was almost unbearable. It wasn't like earlier that morning, when she had looked at Jemma with pity. This was a different kind of pain, a silent apology to Jemma for erasing all of their identities, as if by protecting the team from HYDRA's mistakes, she had indirectly been responsible for Fitz's current state.

No. That was unacceptable. Skye could in no way be blamed for this.

But as the implications of her comment finally started to sink in, Jemma felt her blood run cold. She faced Dr. Russell once more, and when she spoke, there was a venom in her voice that she had never heard before.

"You operated on him without knowing his medical information?" she whispered, having no doubt that everyone in that room could hear her.

At her words, Dr. Russell finally looked up from the ground, a surprisingly defensive expression on his face. "Agent Simmons, if we hadn't gone in right away, he would've suffered even more brain damage than he already-"

"But you had no idea what you were doing!" she shouted over him. "He could've had an allergic reaction to something you gave him, for God's sake, not to mention-"

"Does he?" Dr. Russell asked, his brow furrowed in worry. "Have an allergy?"

"Well…no," Jemma replied. "But that's hardly the- Wait, you're asking this _now_?" Jemma had never felt compelled to strangle anyone in her life, but she was getting dangerously close to strangling this poor excuse of a doctor. Or perhaps she would just hit him over the head with a fire extinguisher.

"All right, everyone just calm down," Coulson said as he stepped forward, a hand held up in front of her as if she were some kind of animal about to attack. She felt a pang of betrayal at the way he was looking at her, like she'd gone mad or something.

"But sir, he didn't even-"

"I know, Simmons," Coulson assured her, his hand still held up in a gesture of pacification. "I know."

Jemma pursed her lips together, trying to hold in her frustration. His eyes silently pleaded with her to calm down, and even though the previous moment's terror still coursed through her, she knew that she should let him interfere. After a moment, she gave him a small nod. Her acquiescence ended up being to her benefit in the end, because the twitch in Coulson's jaw was not meant for her.

Dr. Russell stood his ground as Coulson turned to face him. "I realize that what you did, what you all did," he said in a deadly voice, speaking to the group of doctors, "was to save Agent Fitz." He paused, and Jemma almost felt sorry for what was coming next. "But what happened today," he gestured towards Fitz, his voice rising, "should never have happened. Ever. As of right now, everything you do, every test you perform on him, every reason you have to come into this room, goes through Agent Simmons first. I'm putting her in charge of Fitz's recovery. She's his primary caretaker now, as she should be." He turned to give her a small smile, and Jemma managed to give him one in return, despite her tears threatening to surface again. She couldn't cry now, not when he had entrusted her with such a large responsibility.

"But sir-" Dr. Russell began. Coulson didn't let him finish.

"If anyone has a problem with this decision, feel free to leave. No one's keeping you here. But if you go against my orders, or if for some reason Agent Simmons is not consulted before you even think about going near Fitz, you will be relieved of your duties and released from the Playground. And let me tell you, I wouldn't bank on finding work out there after today. Not when every hospital receives word of just how much you value the Hippocratic Oath." He individually made eye contact with each member of Fury's medical team. "Are we clear?"

Dr. Russell didn't look very pleased, but he must have known that he was out of his depth because he nodded. "Yes, Director."

"Good," Coulson said crisply. "Okay, Simmons. He's all yours. Let me know if you need anything."

He waited for her silent agreement before heading towards the door, everyone else shuffling out behind him. "Sir?" she spoke up, and when he turned to face her, she tried to make sure her expression properly conveyed how grateful she was. "Thank you."

* * *

"Phil-"

"That was a nightmare, Melinda," Coulson said after he had slammed the door shut. He had one hand on his temple as he paced the small office, his other arm crossed over his chest. "I mean, did you _see_ that?" he asked incredulously, gesturing wildly as he was prone to do whenever he was upset.

"Yes, Phil," May replied patiently. "I was there."

He didn't seem to hear her, and she knew from experience that she had to just let him vent. "I can't let them get away with this, May. It's unacceptable. You know, this is _exactly _the kind of thing that made it so damn easy for HYDRA to attack us. All of _this_," he waved in the general direction of the door, "has gotta stop."

"Phil, calm down," May said gently, even though she'd also had to exercise extreme self-control back in Fitz's room. Those doctors were lucky that they'd walked away with all of their bones still intact. "All of what has to stop?"

"_This_," Coulson repeated, stopping mid-pace. "All this red-tape crap." He was breathing heavily, but his eyes were clear. "No more lies, Melinda. No more secrets. S.H.I.E.L.D. fell once before because we didn't trust each other." He stepped closer to her. "But we have a chance to do it right this time. Start fresh. Actually _do_ what S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded for."

"Protection," May nodded, more so to appease Coulson than because she agreed with him. Of course she fully supported S.H.I.E.L.D.'s original mission. But while the system had been corrupted, compartmentalization had allowed its agents to operate with minimal danger of being compromised. Did Coulson really think full disclosure was the way to go? Maybe initially, as they tried to piece back together a destroyed organization. And, of course, their team deserved to know everything they were getting into. But would that really work down the line, within a rebuilt S.H.I.E.L.D.? People kept secrets for a reason.

"Exactly," Coulson said, failing to notice her hesitancy. "But don't you see, May? It's already happening again. We're already not getting the full picture." He scoffed, and something like a smirk played on his lips. "Not even 24 hours into the job and people are already keeping things from me. That has to be some kind of record, right?"

May sighed. "I understand. Believe me, I do. But they saved his life, Phil."

"Barely," he muttered. "And who knows what else they did to him? Something's not right here."

"You think those doctors are hiding something else?"

"I don't know, Melinda," he replied quietly, looking somewhat defeated. He pulled the mysterious black cube back out of his pocket. "But it looks like Fury left me with more questions than answers. Again."

* * *

Skye sat dutifully next to Fitz's bedside, taking comfort in hearing the steady beep of his heart monitor. Her eyes never strayed from his face as she heard Simmons and Triplett move around her, adjusting IVs and replenishing liquids and doing other medical things that Skye was clueless about.

She'd been more than a little surprised when Simmons had asked her to stay and help. Of course, she wanted nothing more than to do whatever she could for Fitz, not only because he was her friend but also because he had nearly died because of her actions. If she had just saved some of the team's data, or backed everything onto her encrypted hard drive, or even just written down everyone's most pertinent medical information on a piece of paper, then Fitz might not have had that terrible scare.

Skye still couldn't get that horrible long beep out of her head, when she'd been telling Fitz about some prank Trip had pulled on her and the pulse in his wrist had just disappeared. Like an invisible switch had been flicked somewhere, stopping his heart in the blink of an eye. Why Simmons had wanted her there after all she'd done so far was a mystery to Skye. But she'd insisted.

"Please, Skye. I need your help."

"But I don't know anything about-"

Simmons had shaken her head. "I just need you to sit with him and tell me when he wakes up. Triplett and I will get everything situated."

Skye still hadn't understood. "Couldn't one of the other doctors do a better job? I mean-"

"I trust _you_, Skye," Simmons had said firmly. "And I know that Fitz would want you to stay. Please."

Skye had remained uncertain. "I thought you said he probably couldn't hear me."

Simmons had given her a sad smile. "He's going to wake up soon, Skye. And I think hearing your voice would be just the thing to make this all a little easier."

Despite herself, Skye had snorted. "What about Mr. Red Velvet Cupcake Voice over there?" she'd said, pointing her thumb behind her at Triplett.

Trip had grinned over at them as he'd strung one of Fitz's fluid bags up. "Girl, I read him, like, eleven chapters of _Moby-Dick_ last night. He's probably pretty damn tired of hearing my voice."

So she'd stayed, and she'd talked to Fitz. She talked about anything and everything she could think of. She talked about Mike Peterson, about how Fitz's tracker had helped the team find Garrett and free all of the supersoldiers, including Mike, from his psychotic control. She talked about barging into Cybertek with a fake bomb, and how she'd been terrified of screwing up. She told Fitz that hearing about his bravery had given her the courage she'd needed to overcome her fear and finish the mission. She told him about her laughable attempt at meditating with May, and how orientation was definitely not as intimidating the second time around. There was only one thing she avoided talking about, one person specifically, but Skye didn't think he was worth mentioning under the circumstances. Fitz deserved better conversation than that.

When she ran out of things to talk about, she sat with him in silence, just listening to him breathe. She could hear Simmons murmuring quietly to Dr. Russell outside the doorway, sending him on some kind of supply run. She still sounded pretty irritated, but she must have understood that she could use someone with actual medical expertise, even if he had royally messed up. Triplett had left to fix the team something to eat a few minutes earlier after making sure that Fitz was still stable. Skye, realizing that she'd been left somewhat alone with Fitz, leaned closer to him.

"Hey, Fitz, you wanna hear a secret?" she whispered, willing him to hear her. She took a shaky breath. "Remember all those times you asked me what my real name was? The one I had at the orphanage, I mean. And I always told you not to worry about it because it wasn't anywhere near as embarrassing as Leopold?" Her voice was thick with tears, but she couldn't help but smile at the memory of his persistence. "Well, I lied. It _is_ more embarrassing. Now, I'm going to tell you what it was, but you're gonna have to do something for me in return. Okay?" Skye paused for a second and nodded, pretending as if her conversation with Fitz wasn't completely one-sided. "Good. Now in my defense, the nuns at St. Agnes were not very creative when it came to names. So of course _I_ got stuck with, wait for it…Mary Sue Poots. I know, right? Pretty awful." Fitz's face remained as still as before, but Skye could almost see the smirk he would have had on his lips. "Go ahead," she said, continuing to whisper. "Laugh all you want. But I told you, so you're gonna have to hold up your end of the deal now."

She took his hand, the one not held in a sling, and tried to keep her tears inside. "You need to wake up, Fitz. We need you. Okay? I need you, Simmons needs you, Coulson needs you. God, how the hell is Coulson supposed to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. without everyone's favorite engineer? It just isn't going to work, Fitz. You have to fight. I know you can do it. Because I've seen you do it before. Please, Fitz. Please wake up."

Skye was trying so hard not to cry that she nearly crushed Fitz's hand in her grip. She released her hold on him, mad that she getting so upset. It wasn't like Fitz could hear her anyway. What was the use in getting worked up for nothing?

She was so busy focusing on calming herself down that she almost didn't notice Fitz's pointer finger twitch on the bed in front of her. She sat up a little straighter, not daring to believe her eyes. Maybe it had just been a reflex from being almost broken by her intense grasp. But no, there it was again. In her peripheral vision, Skye saw a change in one of his monitors, not the one showing his heart rate but the other one, the one monitoring his brain waves or something. Skye wasn't completely sure. But the new bursts on the screen were coming much faster than they had a moment before. That had to be a good thing. Right?

She thought she saw his hand twitch again, and silently scolded herself. She was obviously seeing things that weren't there. She'd always had a habit of hoping for things that could never happen.

But then he blinked.

"Simmons!" Skye shouted, nearly jumping out of her seat. "Simmons, get in here! He's waking up."

Simmons was at her side in a second. "All right, we may only have a few minutes of consciousness, so we'll have to be quick. Skye, stay here with him and fill him in on what's going on. I'll go get him a cuppa." Before Skye could stop her, she was gone.

Skye spun around in panic. She had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, and of course she was the only one left in the room. Fitz still wasn't completely awake, but he was stirring more, so Skye instinctively reached out to lightly touch his arm. As soon as she did so, his eyes fluttered open, clear and bright and dazzlingly blue.

"Hey there, stranger," she smiled at him, giving his arm a small squeeze.

In the back of her mind, Skye had known that Fitz probably wouldn't bounce back very quickly. But she'd never expected him to flinch from her touch, or to look at her with eyes widened in fear. "Mother of all things. What-what's going on?" he croaked, trying to sit up.

"Ah, ah, ah," Simmons admonished, striding into the room. "You lay right back down, Leopold Fitz. You are in no position to be moving about, not before you properly awaken and certainly not before I adjust your mannitol and dexamethasone intake." She had a cup of tea in her hands, but she set it down on a side table before bustling around his bed, her hands a flurry of motion as she removed a few wires. Even though Simmons was speaking quickly, Skye noticed that she never looked directly at Fitz, who was staring at her with mild terror. "Your glucose levels are just a tad lower than they should be," she continued, "so we're going to have to make sure we get some carbohydrates into your system, or we'll be back to square one again." Simmons grabbed a table tray she had prepared earlier with exactly four saltine crackers and a handful of candy. She saw Fitz's bewildered expression and sighed. "Fitz, cerebral hypoxia is nothing to mess around with. You can't have more than fifteen grams right now. You know better. Now, if we sit you up, do you think you could feed yourself?"

Fitz turned his head to look at Skye, and if she hadn't known better, she might have thought he was silently asking for her help. He nodded slowly, and she and Simmons carefully helped him into a somewhat upright position. "Okay, I'm going to get some more blankets from the storeroom," Simmons announced, heading towards the hallway again. "The last thing we need right now is for you to contract some kind of virus." She had just exited the room when her head popped back in the doorway. "And don't you even _think_ about getting out of that bed."

Fitz was opening and closing his mouth, probably upset that she had left before he could argue with her. "Bloody hell," he swore quietly, his eyes still fixed on the empty doorway. "Is she always like that?"

Skye laughed, feeling an incredible weight lift off of her shoulders. She'd been unsure of how Fitz would be affected by his near-death experience, or whether or not he would be able to come back completely. But if he felt good enough to be making jokes, then they probably didn't have a lot to worry about.

At hearing her laugh, Fitz's head turned to look at her. Skye couldn't quite identify his expression. There was a little exasperation, more than a little confusion, and something else that she didn't recognize right away. Looking back, Skye would have said that that was the first sign that something was wrong.

"Hey, um, do you, er," he stammered, scratching his head with his free hand as his cheeks inexplicably turned pink. "I mean, you wouldn't maybe happen to know why my arm is broken, would you?"

Skye could have kicked herself. Of course Fitz had no idea what had gone down in the last 24 hours. "Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"

He shook his head slowly, and Skye turned away, grabbing his tea mug so he wouldn't see her blink back her tears. "Well, I don't know exactly what happened down there either, so you'll have to ask the person who was with you for the details, but I _do_ know that you were a hero, Fitz," she said as she carefully set the cup in front of him. "A stupid, crazy, unnecessarily self-sacrificing hero, but a hero nonetheless."

Fitz looked at her with his signature emotionless stare, but scoffed after a few seconds when he realized she was being serious. "I'm, uh, pretty sure you've got the wrong guy."

"Nope," she shook her head. "You're a hero whether you like it or not, so you might as well just accept it."

Fitz didn't seem too convinced, but he broke away from her gaze, turning to look at the false window on the wall. It was currently displaying palm trees on a tropical island. "We're, uh, not in Boston, are we?"

"Oh jeez. Sorry, Fitz," she said, too distracted by her failure to wonder why he'd think they would be in Boston. "I keep forgetting how out of the loop you are. Actually, we're at the Playground." Her words didn't appear to clear anything up, though. "It's another one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secret bases," she specified. "Because Providence wasn't the only one left like they told us. Surprise, surprise."

"S.H.I.E.L.D.?" he asked in confusion, glancing over her shoulder at the still-empty doorway. "Like…the government?"

Skye thought that that was a weird way of wording the question, but she supposed she could give him a little leeway for almost drowning and all. Later on, she would've said that that was the second sign, though. "Well, we're not terrorists anymore so, you know, yay." Her smile faded somewhat as she sighed. "But I think it's gonna be a little while before people start trusting us again. I mean, I sure as hell wouldn't, you know what I mean?"

There was a small pause and she cleared her throat, not wanting to dwell on the uncertainty of their team's future for too long. "You should probably drink that before Simmons gets back," she pointed to the tea.

Fitz eyed the mug skeptically. "Simmons?" he asked, a tiny smirk on his face. "That's a bit odd name for a girl, isn't it?"

Skye laughed again, but placed her hands on her hips. "You're hilarious, Fitz. Now drink your tea. Or do you need me to help you?"

"No, no," he protested, quickly grasping onto the cup one-handed. "I've, uh, I've got it."

She suppressed another snicker as he cautiously raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. "Hmm," he murmured, staring into the cup. "That's strange."

"What is?"

"Oh, it's just, uh, well, the English are usually pretty stingy with their sugar," he chuckled, setting the cup back down. "I half expected it to be all milk, actually."

Skye heard another laugh come out of her mouth, but for some reason, she didn't think he was being funny anymore. "You and Simmons have known each other for, like, what? Forever? I'm pretty sure she knows how you like your tea by now."

The confusion on Fitz's face didn't disappear, and all of a sudden Skye didn't want him to say anything else. Because she finally understood what was happening. She finally understood that if all the signs were correct, his next words would break her heart.

And they did.

"I've never seen her before in my life."

* * *

**A/N**: Dr. Russell is a name I came up with, but for those who have seen Captain America: The Winter Soldier, the character is meant to be the doctor that was in Fury's secret base, the one who helped Fury recover and who also tended to Natasha's bullet wound. He was played by one of the directors (Joe Russo), but the character didn't have a name. Just in case anyone was curious. :)

Also, I apologize for the delay in posting this chapter. I've been on vacation, so for the most part I've been writing on the beach. Hopefully when I get back home I'll be posting more frequently. Let me know what you think and as always thank you so much for taking the time to read!


	4. Chapter 4

Skye simply stood there in stunned silence for a few moments, at a loss for words.

No.

This was not happening.

No.

There was no way he was being serious.

No.

She silently told herself that she was walking right into her own humiliation, but she couldn't help it. She had to ask.

"Fitz…" she finally managed to choke out, her voice fighting past the lump in her throat. "Do…um…do you know who I am?" Skye was suddenly freezing, and absentmindedly wrapped her arms around her torso. She felt the maddening urge to run away, but she forced herself to stay and hear his answer.

For his part, Fitz looked like a deer trapped in headlights, an expression of his that usually made Skye burst out laughing but now just made her feel like she was going to throw up.

"Uh…" he began, his eyes still widened in fear. "No, don't tell me, I've got it," he stammered before pressing two fingers to his forehead and closing his eyes in concentration. "Oh!" he snapped his fingers, meeting her gaze again. "Nonlinear dynamics, right? With Professor Griffiths? Yeah, you sit a few rows ahead of me, I think. But I, uh, usually sit in the back, so I've only been staring at you from behind." His eyes widened further. "Not that I've been staring at you, I, uh, just meant that I've only ever looked at the back of your head. Seen. Seen the back of your head. Glanced, really." Skye wanted to interrupt him, but Fitz's feigned awkwardness, complete with reddened cheeks and severely embarrassed wince, was way too amusing. He continued to stammer on, apparently milking his situation for all it was worth before she called him out. "I'm sorry, I'm bloody awful with names, though. Is it…Abby? No, that's not it. Carol?"

Skye couldn't hold back her snicker anymore. "Carol? Okay, Fitz, new Prank War ground rules. I'll let it slide this once because I understand it was probably too much for you to resist. But from now on, _no_ _faking amnesia_ after traumatic life-threatening situations. Especially after everything we've gone through with stupid…HYDRA and…just…everything. Got it?" Halfway through her lecture, when Fitz's bewildered expression didn't disappear, Skye's eyes filled with tears again. She was getting too angry with him. She knew that. But didn't he understand? Didn't he understand that she'd thought he was dead?

Fitz chuckled, but it seemed to be out of terror rather than amusement. "Okay, I've, uh…obviously missed something here. What's really going on?"

"Cut it out, Fitz," Skye whispered, looking down at the floor in a desperate attempt to hold back her tears.

"But I don't-"

"I said cut it out, Fitz!" she cried, turning away from him and covering her mouth with her trembling fingertips. This was not happening. This couldn't be happening. Not after everything their team had gone through. Not after everything _Fitz_ had gone through. What was she going to do? A quiet sob escaped her lips, but she still refused to release her tears. She needed to pull herself together. Fitz needed her to pull herself together.

Distantly, she heard his weak voice make its way through the panicked buzz that had filled her ears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you…" he began before trailing off. Skye's head snapped up at the sound of purposeful footsteps out in the hallway.

Oh, God.

Simmons.

"Okay, well unfortunately this is all I could find in the storeroom," Simmons declared as she strode into the room with a couple of thin blankets. Skye tried to meet her eyes, but Simmons simply walked right past her and made her way around to the other side of Fitz's bed. "And I know how much you hate the scratchy ones, Fitz, but you'll just have to make do with this one for now. I'll make a run to the Bus later and grab the one your mum made for you last Christmas." She sighed in exasperation, apparently misreading Fitz's confusion. "_Yes_, Fitz, I'll grab the sweets from under your bed too."

"Uh, Simmons?" Skye murmured, unsuccessfully trying to make sure her voice didn't waver.

"What is it, Skye?" Simmons replied distractedly, spreading out an ugly yellow blanket over Fitz's legs.

"Can I, uh, talk to you out in the hall for a sec?"

Simmons briefly glanced in her direction before adjusting some of the IVs attached to Fitz. "Can it wait a few minutes, Skye? I have to make sure- Fitz!" she suddenly exclaimed, pointing to his nearly untouched tea. "Drink that up right now. What, do you think it's just going to stay warm like that all day? And you barely even touched your food! You're going to go into shock again if you don't get _something_ into your system. Honestly, it's like you don't even-"

"Simmons!" Skye shouted, and even though her vision was blurred with tears, she saw Simmons finally look over at her. "Something's wrong," she whispered, hoping she wouldn't have to say anything else. Skye didn't even fully understand what was happening. She didn't think she had the strength to accept it, let alone tell Simmons what was going on.

But Simmons wasn't looking at her anymore. For the first time since Fitz had woken up, Skye saw Simmons meet his eyes, her hands going still. The moment that followed was one of the longest moments of Skye's life. She'd spent enough time with FitzSimmons to know when there were unspoken words flying between them. Most of the time, it fascinated her, how in sync they were, not only finishing each other's sentences but also completing the other person. Two halves of a whole. FitzSimmons.

But this was something completely different. Simmons must have seen something in Fitz's eyes, something that had taken much too long for Skye to detect. She must have seen the truth in there, the truth that he didn't know who she was. Or maybe she just knew, like she always did with him. Fitz, on the other hand, seemed caught off-guard by the level of familiarity that would have undoubtedly been in Simmons's expression, and yet he didn't break away from her gaze. Skye imagined she was bearing witness to some strange alternate version of the first time FitzSimmons met. She also imagined this moment was a lot more heartbreaking than that first time, back at the Academy all those years ago. The silent exchange between them couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but Skye saw it. She saw Simmons retreat into herself, pushing away her feelings for Fitz's sake.

Fitz actually spoke first, though. "Okay, I, uh, I think I see what's going on," he said, a small smile on his face. Skye and Simmons looked at him in confusion. "Thompson set you both up to this, didn't he?"

"Who?" Skye asked, totally baffled.

"Jonny Thompson? He's had it out for me all year. Look, I get it, okay? I'm not as _mature_ as the rest of you, I don't belong here, whatever. But _this_," he said, gesturing with his good arm at the spectacle around him, "is ridiculous. I mean, breaking my arm? Really? I've already told him I'd stay out of his way. What else does he want? And by the way I'll have you _both_ know that Tony Stark was only seventeen when he graduated-"

"Fitz," Simmons interrupted him, and Skye was surprised to hear that her voice was amazingly clear. "I apologize for the confusion you must be feeling right now, but I have a question to ask you and it's very important that you answer it as truthfully as you can. All right?"

Fitz had fallen silent, and Skye could tell that he was beginning to fully understand that this wasn't some elaborate prank. He nodded slowly. Skye heard Simmons take a breath.

"What is…the last thing you remember?"

Fitz looked down at his lap and shook his head. "I, uh…I'm not quite sure. I think I was maybe leaving my flat? Yeah, I remember leaving my flat for class the other morning. But after that it's just…dark."

"Your flat," Simmons repeated, a tight smile on her face. "You mean your dorm? At…at the Academy?"

"No," Fitz replied after a pause. His eyes were darting back and forth between Skye and Simmons, probably hoping for some kind of recognition. "My flat. You know, the one I have in…Boston?"

"Right," Simmons said quietly, closing her eyes for a moment. "Because you're studying at-"

"MIT," Fitz finished as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "I mean, that's where you guys go, too, isn't it?" At their silence he looked over at Skye. "Unless…unless you were telling the truth about being with…S.H.I.E.L.D.?" He shook his head, growing more upset. "Okay, can someone please just tell me what the bloody hell is going on?"

"Fitz," Simmons said gently, and Skye heard the first hint of a tremor in her voice. "You've experienced a traumatic brain injury caused by a lack of oxygen to your brain. We're not sure how much your brain cells have been affected but…it's obviously a lot more serious than we thought."

Fitz was still shaking his head. "I don't…that doesn't…but I wasn't-"

"You nearly drowned, Fitz," Simmons told him, her tense jaw line the only sign of how distressed she really was. "You're lucky to be alive. And despite this…setback…I promise you that we will be doing everything we can to make your recovery as smooth as possible."

"All right, you guys, this isn't funny anymore," Fitz muttered, avoiding their eyes as he tried to get out of the bed. "I'm going home now."

"Fitz, we're not making this up," Simmons assured him. She gently pushed his shoulders back into the pillows before immediately stepping away from him, probably unused to having Fitz flinch away from her so violently. Skye felt her heart break all over again for Simmons, but Simmons's face only faltered for a second. "Look, I know this is probably a lot to take in right now-"

"No, you know what? You don't know a damn thing about me, and now you're just…just spouting out complete _nonsense_ and…and…" His eyes were drooping and his breaths were coming out shorter, but he was still weakly trying to get up. Simmons began lowering his bed. "No, just…stop doing that. Stop it, I don't…"

"No, don't fight it, Fitz," Simmons murmured, gingerly pushing Fitz back again. "Your body still can't handle being awake for long periods of time, not after the trauma you've experienced. I can assure you we will explain everything in time. Just…relax."

Fitz still looked upset, but he sank back into the pillows, apparently too weak to resist. "How am I supposed…to relax…when…you're…talking…nonsense…" His eyelids slowly closed shut as he appeared to fall asleep again. Skye looked over at Simmons, hoping for some form of explanation for what on earth was happening. But Simmons was frozen, staring at Fitz's face, her hands hovering over his shoulders.

"Simmons," Skye began.

"I don't know, Skye," Simmons whispered, still in the same position.

"But-"

"I don't know, Skye!" she said more forcefully, standing up straight and walking over to his monitors. "I mean, it doesn't make any sense. There's _no way_ he was oxygen-deprived for more than…two minutes at most." Simmons was still speaking clinically, but Skye could hear the tears in her voice. "The first part of his brain that would have been even _remotely_ affected would have been the hippocampus, but…but even if that had happened, his short-term memory would have suffered, certainly not his long-term." She shook her head, still staring at the screens. "We'll have to do a scan, figure out where the damage is. But something's not right here." She glanced over at Fitz. "He shouldn't be like this."

"Simmons…" Skye said quietly, reaching out to touch her arm.

But Simmons backed away from her, heading for the door. "He'll be all right, Skye. It's normal for him to be confused and upset right now. We just need to let him rest." She must have misunderstood Skye's concerned expression, because she quickly continued. "It's not like before. See these brain waves?" she pointed to the monitor. "This is a regular sleep pattern. He'll wake up again, don't worry."

Skye stepped forward. "No, that's not what I meant, Simmons. Are you-"

Simmons avoided her eyes, continuing to back out into the hallway. "Um, I'm going to get more…um…supplies. Skye, could you please inform the others of what's happened?"

"But-"

"Thank you," Simmons said firmly before quickly walking away. Skye simply stood there in silence, and as a few tears finally escaped down her cheeks, she marveled at how collected Simmons could be after finding out her other half didn't remember her.

Skye wished she could be that strong.

She took a few minutes to collect herself, wiping away her tears and adjusting Fitz's blanket so he appeared somewhat more comfortable. After she yanked one of Fury's doctors into the room and told him in no uncertain terms that if anything happened to Fitz while she or Simmons was gone, she would set the Cavalry loose on him, she headed over to tell the team about their most recent troubling development.

"He _what_?" Coulson exclaimed, his arms folded across his chest as he stared at her in alarm.

It took all of Skye's willpower to stay calm. "I know, it…it sucks. He doesn't remember me or Simmons or being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and who _knows_ what else."

"But _how could this happen_?" Coulson asked, bewildered. "Simmons said he wasn't even-"

"Simmons doesn't know, either. She said his memory shouldn't have even been a problem."

"How's she holding up?" Trip spoke up from the corner of the room. He was leaning back against the bookshelves, his fingertips resting lightly on his chin, but Skye could tell that he was upset by the news.

Skye met his gaze. "Amazing, actually. You'd never know anything was wrong."

"But you know better," Trip said slowly.

Skye nodded. "Yeah," she whispered.

"An experience like that-" May began.

"Takes a while to sink in," Coulson finished, looking over at May with a sad smile. There was a heavy pause before he cleared his throat. "All right, we're gonna have to do everything we can to help her out. Okay, team? This one's important. These _two_," he corrected himself, "are important."

Everyone nodded, as if they needed to assure Coulson that they knew very well just how important FitzSimmons were. He glanced between all of them before giving them a curt nod and walking over to one of the false windows. May stepped closer to him, and Skye noticed Trip slip quietly out of the room. "What are you thinking, Phil?"

He turned around, addressing both her and Skye. "Anyone else have a bad feeling about this?"

"Plenty," Skye said. "Bad feelings up the wazoo here, actually. Which one are we talking about?"

Coulson didn't smile, but Skye hadn't really expected him to. "I mean, when have we ever come across a situation where secretive brain operations and memory loss meant something good?"

"Phil, it's hardly the same situation-"

"Is it?" he asked skeptically. "He almost died, May. Is it really that big of a stretch?"

They stared each other down for a few moments, and even though their faces remained impassive, Skye could sense the withheld emotion and knew they were remembering things too painful to talk about. May finally sighed, walking towards the door. "I'll go get Dr. Russell. Want me to bring him to the Cage?"

"No, just bring him here. And don't hurt him too much," Coulson called after her. "I'm gonna need him to actually answer my questions."

May rolled her eyes but didn't respond, disappearing out of the doorway. Skye turned to Coulson. "What do you need me to do, boss?"

He didn't respond right away, and for a second Skye thought maybe he hadn't heard her. He had a rare look on his face, one she had only ever seen a couple times. Before she could process what was happening, though, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. The hug was short and a little awkward, but Skye was moved nonetheless. She knew that Coulson was not a natural hugger, but he must have known it was what she'd needed.

"You okay?" he asked.

Skye almost lied to him, but she figured that he would probably see right through it. "No," she answered. "I mean, obviously I'm more okay than Fitz. And Simmons." She placed a hand on her forehead, fighting back the tears again. "God, they don't deserve this," she said angrily, glancing back up at Coulson. "Why them? Huh? Why _Fitz_? I mean, it's Fitz, for God's sake! How the _hell_ could _he_ look at Fitz and…and…" She paused, taking a few breaths to calm herself down. "They don't deserve this," she repeated. "He doesn't deserve this."

"No," Coulson replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't. But we're not going to give up on him. And we're not going to let...HYDRA," he emphasized, letting all the word's implications speak for themselves, "destroy us. Okay?"

Skye breathed out slowly and nodded, and Coulson released her shoulder. "Why don't you go get some rest?"

"No," she shook her head. "No, I need to do something. Don't you have anything for me to do?"

Coulson hesitated for a moment before a small smirk appeared on his face. "Well, I was going to surprise you with this later," he said, walking behind his desk and picking up a small black cube. "But actually this whole situation might just work as your first project."

Skye was confused. "First project for what?"

He walked up to her and placed the cube in her palm. "One of the things I came across inside Fury's box of mystery was a familiar little list."

"The Index," Skye smiled, both amazed and relieved they wouldn't have to completely start from scratch on that endeavor. "You want me to extract the file, maybe see if I can track their locations?"

"I'll let you decide what you want to do with the names already on the list. Whether you want to monitor them, maybe check in. It's up to you. They don't really have case agents anymore but if you wanted to restart that up, I'd be open to it. The list is your baby now."

"My…wait, what?"

Coulson's smirk grew. "I'm putting you in charge of the Index/Asset Evaluation and Intake Process."

Skye was stunned. "Wait, in _charge_? Like…" she trailed off, her unspoken question hanging in the air.

"You get to decide who gets put on the Index, you get to decide how to go about approaching gifted individuals, and you get to decide how they're monitored. It's yours."

Skye looked down at the box in her hands, momentarily speechless. She found her voice after a few seconds and glanced back at Coulson, who was still smiling. "You really trust me that much?"

His face grew serious. "Yeah. I do," he replied simply, looking her in the eye. There was a comfortable pause before he continued. "But I'm gonna need that cube back."

"Oh. Right-"

"It's just got a lot of other stuff on it-"

"Yeah, I totally understand-"

"Just…when you get the chance, that'd be great-"

"Got it. Yeah." Skye realized that her smile was probably borderline ridiculous, so she quickly changed the subject. "You, uh, mentioned a project?"

"Two, now that I think of it."

"The first is…"

"Change the name."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Duh. And the second project?"

Coulson hesitated. "Fitz," he replied.

The happiness that had flooded through Skye a moment before quickly disappeared as she was reminded of their much more pressing situation. "But…Fitz isn't on the Index," she said slowly. "Is he?"

"No," Coulson shook his head. "But a lot of what the Process involves? The individuals we usually go talk to? In a lot of ways Fitz is like them right now. He's confused, he doesn't know what's going on, he probably has no idea what S.H.I.E.L.D. actually does. He's gonna need a hell of a lot of patience and he's gonna need a hell of a lot of compassion. You've got a big heart, Skye. You could help him a lot."

Skye didn't necessarily agree. "I can't help him like Simmons can," she pointed out.

"True," he nodded. "But he doesn't need you to be Simmons. He's got Simmons to do that. He needs you to be Skye."

Skye still wasn't sure that she was the right person for the job. But she respected Coulson and she cared about Fitz, so she managed to give him a smile. "Thanks, A.C. Or should I call you D.C. now?"

Coulson laughed before heading back to his desk. "I don't remember approving the first one," he said, unbuttoning his jacket and sitting down. "What about AC/DC?"

She snorted. "God, that's terrible. No, I think I'll stick with A.C. 'Cause you're still pretty cool…you know, for you."

He didn't say anything, but Skye could tell he was secretly pleased. He pulled some papers towards him on the desk, so she turned to leave. Just as she reached the doorframe, though, she paused and spun back around. "We're really doing this, huh?" He looked up at her, confused. "Rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Coulson went back to his papers. "That's the plan."

"You're not afraid you'll fail?"

He set his pen down and shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Sure. It's all really up in the air at this point. But somebody once taught me that it's better to face your fears head-on instead of hiding from them. Because you can't really hide from them, not really."

Skye let his words sink in for a moment. She figured it made sense. "Who taught you that?"

There was a little bit of sadness in his eyes before he told her, and a reminiscent smile on his lips. Skye silently scolded herself for asking him a personal question that probably brought back painful memories. But his answer wasn't what she'd been expecting.

"You did."

* * *

She wasn't quite sure how she'd ended up there, or why she chose that particular spot to collapse in.

After walking away from his room, she'd made it to the end of one corridor before realizing that she didn't know where she was going. She didn't need to retrieve any supplies, at least not any that he would need immediately. Everything that she needed to do was back in that room.

So what was she doing?

Jemma briefly thought about stopping, but her legs continued to pull her down the labyrinth of the Playground's corridors, somehow knowing that she couldn't go back to that room. Not yet. She needed some time alone to figure out what they were going to do, what _she_ was going to do.

_What the bloody hell was she going to do?_

Somewhere in that time she'd reached a dead end, but instead of turning back, she'd simply leaned up against the wall and sank to the floor. Her thoughts were jumbled and panicked, but in the midst of the chaos they all seemed to come back and center on one thing. One person.

Finding herself curled into a ball, Jemma rested her head on her knees and tried to drown out her thoughts. She focused on breathing, letting her mind go through the science of the process. Inhaling oxygen, her diaphragm contracting to allow her lungs to expand in her chest cavity. The oxygen passing through the alveoli to her capillaries. Her pulmonary vein carrying her oxygen-rich blood to the left side of her heart, and then pumping the blood to the rest of her body.

Precise, concrete, regular. Something that happened every second of every day of her life. Something she often took for granted.

She let the process flood her mind, years of study and memorization giving her the ability to avoid thinking altogether.

Maybe if she tried hard enough, she could forget him too.

But who was she kidding? Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that terrifying vacancy in his face all over again. The way he looked at her, as if seeing her for the first time. The way he cringed away from her touch, not out of anger or annoyance but out of fear. All familiarity, everything he knew about her (and gosh, he knew everything), all of that just…gone.

As if she'd never meant anything to him at all.

Jemma knew fully well that she should be grateful that Fitz was alive. And she was. She would have given her life in a heartbeat if it meant that Fitz would be okay. The fact that he was alive and no longer comatose should have been enough for her.

But her best friend, the person who'd known her better than she knew herself, was gone. A part of him had been left in that med pod at the bottom of the sea. And for Jemma, that meant a part of her had been left there as well.

Jemma could barely even remember her life before Fitz. Before finished thoughts and sentences. Before late-night study sessions and spending all day in the lab just bouncing ideas off of each other. Before having a shoulder to cry on even when she hadn't known she needed one. Before having someone who would come get her at four in the morning when she'd been completely plastered and never once ask for an explanation. Before finding someone who could both call her out when she was wrong but could also help her find a way to make it right. Before having someone who would begrudgingly go along with something she really wanted to do, even if it meant giving up his comfort. Before she'd ever had a real friend. Before FitzSimmons.

She couldn't remember. But it hardly mattered now. They were back to square one again.

The pain in her chest suddenly became nearly unbearable. She could _not_ handle square one again.

She didn't know how long she sat there, curled up in the corner of that abandoned hallway. In the back of her mind she knew she needed to get back to him, but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to stand up. The pain in her chest faded eventually. Jemma didn't feel any better, though. Now she just felt empty.

After a while, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching her, but she didn't raise her head. She'd somewhat hoped that her closed-off position would send the message that she wanted to be left alone, but she found that she didn't mind so much when he wordlessly sat down next to her.

They sat in silence for a little while before Jemma found her voice. "He doesn't remember me," she said quietly, her voice devoid of all emotion. She was a bit surprised that of all the things she could have said, that's what had come out, but despite their selfish nature they really were the only words at the forefront of her mind.

It was the first time she'd said it out loud. The truth of it still didn't feel real.

Triplett didn't reply right away, but Jemma didn't need him to. She'd simply needed to say it aloud so that she could start to accept it and find some way to fix it. Because that's what she was supposed to do, right? Fix it?

She raised her head from her knees and looked over at the person sitting next to her. He had his eyes cast downwards, but she saw the pain on his face. Jemma silently berated herself for her lack of tact. Triplett had always liked Fitz, and she had been more than a little pleased to notice that they'd started to get along recently, with Fitz finally coming to accept Triplett as a member of their team. Of course Triplett would be upset about Fitz's condition.

And yet he'd somehow sought her out, knowing that even though she'd run away, she needed someone right now. Someone who wouldn't bombard her with questions she couldn't answer and someone who didn't expect her to be able to achieve the impossible.

"Do you need anything?" he asked, finally looking over at her.

"No," she answered reflexively, but corrected herself. "I don't know."

Triplett nodded absentmindedly, accepting her vague answer. There was another pause before he ventured forward again. "So what's the plan, doc?" He was trying to lighten the situation, but Jemma felt the weight of her abandoned responsibility fall heavy on her shoulders.

She shrugged. "We'll have to do a functional MRI, I suppose, try to assess which parts of his brain have sustained the most damage and then go from there. But other than that…I don't know." She gave a weak laugh. "Funnily enough, Fitz would actually know more about what to do in this situation than I do."

"I'm not so sure about that," Triplett smiled.

"No, it's true," Jemma sighed. "I suppose I'll have to make some calls soon, find a specialist we can send him to."

Triplett's head quickly turned towards her. "You're not thinking of having him taken away, are you?"

Jemma was startled by his intensity, and felt oddly defensive. "Well, what else am I supposed to do? I'm not properly equipped to handle this. I hardly have the training or the expertise-"

"Forget about all that for a second," Triplett stopped her, his calm voice telling her that he was on her side. "Fitz needs _you_ right now."

For the first time since she had realized what had happened to Fitz, Jemma felt the load of all her suppressed emotions bubbling to the surface. She shook her head, both in denial and as a way to push back her tears. "He doesn't even know who I am," she whispered.

Triplett hesitated for a moment. "Look, you're his best friend, right?"

She scoffed. "Not anymore."

"You're his best friend," Triplett repeated, a wry smile on his face. "My point is there's probably no one else in the world that could help him remember better than you."

Jemma wanted to believe him. She really did. But even without being an expert in neurology, she knew that Fitz's chances of fully recovering his memory were very slim. She had a feeling Triplett knew as well, so she didn't feel particularly sorry for voicing her next question. "And what if he never remembers?"

Triplett gave a long sigh. "Well, then that lucky bastard gets to become best friends with you all over again. And _you_ get to teach him all about the art of FitzSimmonsing."

Jemma looked over at him with narrowed eyes. "That's…not-"

"You bet your ass it's a word," he said seriously before breaking into a grin. "I can't really take the credit for it, it was all Skye's idea. But we're expecting Webster's Dictionary to get on that very soon."

In spite of everything, Jemma managed to drudge up a smile. But only for a moment. "I don't know, do you really think this is the best place for him right now?"

"Hundred percent," he said, standing up and offering her a hand.

She let him help her up, but she was a little exasperated by his steadfast certainty. "And how can you be so sure about that?"

Triplett simply smiled as they made their way back towards Fitz's room. "Because he's got you in his corner."

* * *

He glanced up in irritation at the young soldier standing hesitantly in his office doorway. "What is it, private?" he asked tersely.

The kid hovered in the entrance for a second before stepping forward. "Sir, your transfer order has been processed. The prisoner is being moved as we speak."

"Huh," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "And there were no…complications?"

"No, sir," the private said, still standing at attention. "Would you like the prisoner to be brought directly to you, sir?"

He didn't answer immediately, but slowly stood up, beginning to pace behind his desk. "This…prisoner. He comes with special instructions, doesn't he?"

"Yes, sir. From Agent-" he began, before stopping abruptly. "I'm sorry, sir, from…_former_ Agent Coulson. Of S.H.I.E.L.D."

"And you've seen these instructions?"

"Yes, sir."

"How specific are they?"

The private seemed ready to give a direct answer, but he faltered. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Yeah, yeah," he waved his hand dismissively.

There was another pause before the private spoke again. "The instructions are…weirdly specific, sir."

He gave a dry laugh in response. "Of course they are. Coulson sure likes to make everything difficult for me, doesn't he?" He sighed. "Okay, tell you what. Put the prisoner in one of the high-security isolation cells. We'll let him sit by himself for a while, get a feel for what's ahead, maybe even go through some of the things on that instruction list. He should be nice and ready to accept my offer after a couple weeks of that, don't you think, private?"

The private nodded solemnly. "Yes, Colonel Talbot."

* * *

**A/N**: Alas, like Agent Triplett, I cannot take credit for coming up with "FitzSimmonsing" either. That belongs to Tumblr user agents-of-frickle-frackle.

Thank you so much for sticking with this story - let me know what you think! :)


	5. Chapter 5

"I-I don't understand," Dr. Russell stammered as May ushered him into Coulson's office. He spun his head around, presumably hoping that something in either of their expressions would assure him that everything was all right. But even under normal circumstances he would've been disappointed. "Has…has something happened with…with the patient?"

Coulson glanced over at May. "You didn't tell him?"

"No, she-she didn't tell me anything," the doctor answered. "She just…just told me to come with her and glared at me whenever I asked any questions." May saw the hint of a smirk on Coulson's face, but it quickly disappeared as Dr. Russell continued. "Sir, if something's happened to the patient, I can help. Now that we know of his-"

"That _patient_ you're referring to," Coulson interrupted, "is an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. An agent who risked everything to stop HYDRA and an agent who nearly gave his life to save one of our own. You'll do well to remember that."

Dr. Russell briefly closed his eyes in what looked more like irritation than embarrassment. "Yes, yes, Agent Fitz, of course. Look, my point is-"

"He woke up, Doctor," Coulson said, his voice deadly calm.

The doctor stopped talking and again turned to look at May, visibly confused as to why they were both staring daggers at him. "He did? Well, that's…that's great news. Now we should be able to-"

"He woke up," Coulson repeated, talking over him, "and he's having some trouble...remembering things." He met May's eyes, and May could tell that he was struggling to remain patient.

Dr. Russell didn't seem very bothered by Fitz's alarming development, though. "Oh, is that all? Sir, I can assure you this is quite normal. We see this all the time with head injuries. You see, when he was knocked out by the pressure of the water, his brain didn't have time to transfer his new memories into long-term. So we wouldn't have expected him to remember what happened before the impact anyways."

"It's more serious than that," Coulson replied, and even though his hands were clasped casually in front of him, May knew he was anything but at ease. "We don't know the extent of the damage exactly, but he appears to be missing something like the last eight years. He doesn't remember any of us, the fact that he works for S.H.I.E.L.D., not even the Academy. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

The doctor's eyes widened in the uncomfortable silence that followed. "Oh, dear," he finally murmured, sinking into a chair near the door. "I was afraid something like this would happen."

May and Coulson exchanged another glance, and Coulson gave her an almost imperceptible shake of the head. Damn. She was really not in the mood for patience either.

"All right, no more cryptic comments, Doctor," Coulson said as he folded his arms across his chest. "That's not how we're going be doing things around here anymore. I want full disclosure. Now. What exactly did you do to Agent Fitz after you pulled him out of the water?"

Russell sighed, and there was a long pause as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I assume you both are aware of…Project T.A.H.I.T.I.?"

May instinctively looked over at Coulson, but his eyes were still fixed on the doctor. She made to take a step closer to him, only to stop short as he held up a hand towards her. He didn't speak for a few long moments, and when he did, it was in a near whisper. "Project T.A.H.I.T.I. was shut down."

The doctor glanced up at the two of them in confusion. "Well, yes, of course," he began before gasping quietly, probably realizing the implications of his question. "No, no, I didn't mean…What I meant was just-" He sighed again, and though he still looked irritated, it seemed to stem more from his inability to get out what he wanted to say than by his fairly mild interrogation. "Agent Fitz was not part of the T.A.H.I.T.I. project, no. You know better than I that that entire venture was completely destroyed when…it was…exploded, but that's-"

"Get to the point, Doctor," Coulson said tersely.

"There was another project," Russell replied, meeting Coulson's eyes. "Another project that made use of the memory overwriting machine, the one that gave you the memory of being in-"

"Tahiti," Coulson nodded.

"Exactly," the doctor continued. "But this machine…it doesn't just have the ability to _give_ stored memories, it can also-"

"Take them away," Coulson finished before a look of horror passed over his face. "You're saying you _took_ Fitz's memories?"

"No, no," Russell protested, shaking his head vigorously. "Well…yes, but…it's complicated."

"Then make it simple," May said, walking over to stand next to Coulson. The doctor now had two livid agents staring him down, but he didn't seem particularly disconcerted.

"The project was started by R&D a few years back, after a failed mission to escort one of our nuclear engineers out of Iran. Agent Romanoff was in charge of that one, so you can imagine how completely vulnerable that made us feel. S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted to find a way to make sure that its assets remained protected. But it also needed a sort of contingency plan, something to ensure that what was in their heads either stayed there or at least-"

"Stayed with S.H.I.E.L.D.," May said quietly. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Coulson's shoulders tense up. "You're taking the memories away from these scientists in the name of progress?"

"It's an entirely voluntary program, Agent May," Russell assured her. "Dr. Banner is on the list, Dr. Martell over at SciTech. Even Franklin Hall volunteered, but there was nothing we could do for him after he fell into the gravitonium. Basically what happens is that in the event of death or life-threatening situation, we've been able to use the memory overwrite machine to make a copy of a person's memories for future use. Really, it's revolutionary."

There were many things about the agenda that didn't sit right with May, but Coulson voiced his question first. "If you're just making copies, then how come Fitz can't remember anything?"

Dr. Russell leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. "I told Fury it was a risk, sir, but he insisted." He sat up and sighed again. "It all makes sense now, why the procedure didn't work. We didn't know about Agent Fitz's hypoglycemia. But when he went into cardiac arrest, we stopped the operation and focused on stabilizing him. I swear to you, sir, our main priority was making sure he stayed alive."

"Oh, you did a great job," Coulson muttered sarcastically before turning around and walking over to one of the windows. May knew that Coulson was deeply unsettled by the situation and was probably close to some kind of outburst, so she stood her ground in front of Russell.

"Is there a way to get his memories back?"

Russell put his glasses back on after shaking his head. "I don't know. Like I said, the procedure didn't work on him. I suppose it's possible he could recover them over time, but I really can't say for sure. I'm sorry."

May was stunned, the reality of Fitz's condition finally making its way through to her. She knew that he'd been hurt badly, she knew that he would probably never be the same again, but this? Having his memory taken away? May knew all too well how destructive that could be. This wasn't just a rough gunshot wound that would take a while to heal. Hell, this wasn't even an enemy they could fight back against.

And yet it could destroy all of them.

She glanced over at Coulson, wondering which line of thought he was following, but his back was still to her as he stared at the palm trees in the false window. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

"Agent Fitz didn't volunteer for the program, did he?"

The doctor looked uncomfortable. "We were going to approach him about it some time ago, but what with the surprise of HYDRA and everything that's happened, we never got the chance. And when we pulled him and Agent Simmons out of the ocean, Fury didn't want to wait until it was too late-"

"Why?" Coulson suddenly cried out, turning on the doctor again. "He wasn't dead, he could've been fine. The damn thing didn't even work! You said so yourself. And _still_ you went and messed around in his head anyways. And for what? Why the _hell_ would Fury risk something like that?"

May used all of her self-discipline to keep from placing a hand on Coulson's shoulder. He still hadn't completely broken down yet, but May knew this anger he was outpouring was just scratching the surface of what was underneath. The doctor would have to tread careful waters if he didn't want to be on the receiving end of whatever was coming.

But his response ended up leaving both of them speechless.

"Because what's in Agent Fitz's head," he replied slowly, "saved Fury's life."

* * *

_He dreamt in images, fleeting moments that were gone as soon as they had come. Some images played on the edges of his recognition, but they disappeared too quickly for him to identify, like sand slipping through his fingers. _

_ At first he was lying on a wide lawn, the sun shining brightly overhead as he tried to make out the words on the page in front of him. There was a book resting in his lap, but he was distracted for some reason, the sound of melodic laughter drifting lazily over to him from somewhere to his right and a few wisps of brown hair dancing at the corners of his vision. He turned his head to look, but the scene faded quickly._

_ He was now in a lab, the contraption before him coming to life as his hands flew around the machinery, the tools practically extensions of his own fingertips. He felt at ease, calculations flashing through his mind with every step as he worked in solitude. Only he wasn't alone, not really. There was another pair of hands nearby, somewhat smaller than his, and more delicate, but oddly he wasn't bothered. These hands worked well next to his, wordlessly placing a tool in front of him ten seconds before he knew he needed it, or pointing to a problem spot in the machine when he couldn't figure out why it wasn't working. It never once occurred to him to look over at the owner of those hands, because it never once occurred to him that they didn't belong there, working in the lab beside him. He was content there. Safe._

_ But then the scene changed again._

_ The screwdriver that had been in his palm disappeared. He now stared down at the silent mobile in its place, the echo of the words spoken on the other end resounding in his head. After a while the phone was carefully wrenched from his grip, and he felt gentle hands brush away what he took a moment to realize were tears. There was an inexplicable fear coursing through him, but the company made it better somehow. He found himself saddened as his surroundings faded once more._

_ Things were starting to get more jumbled now. Calculations continued to flash before his eyes, but they didn't make any sense. He was standing at the edge of a precipice, looking down at a bed of clouds, searching for something. Or someone. He wasn't sure. But the fear he'd felt a moment before was much more acute now, a fear of loss or helplessness or some combination of both._

_ When he glanced down at his hands again, he was shocked to see a gun held tightly in his grasp. But he didn't have time to see what he was shooting at before his finger pressed down on the trigger and everything exploded._

_ The images were coming faster now. A pulse of blue light. A night sky where there shouldn't have been. A knife clattering to the ground out of his shaking hands. Someone sobbing into his shoulder and desperately peppering his face with kisses before his palm slammed down on a red button. The sound of breaking glass. Rushing water. So much water. And above it all, the worst scream he'd ever heard in his life._

_ When he woke up, he wouldn't remember any of it. But sometimes, when he was alone, he would absently bring his fingertips up to his face, where seven invisible marks burned like permanent scars against his skin._

* * *

"How much longer…do I have to do this?" Skye gasped, her face contorted in discomfort as she held onto the bar.

Triplett glanced at his watch before turning back to the Stephen Crane novel he was reading, half-heartedly trying to keep the smirk off of his face. "Two more minutes."

His smirk turned into a full grin when he heard her groan quietly. "How come you're just sitting there? Shouldn't you be…I don't know, bench-pressing a truck or something?"

"It's my rest day," Triplett replied. He looked up from his book again to see her giving him her signature look of disbelief, like it was completely crazy that he would take a day off from brutal exercise. He didn't tell her that the order to sit out for a day had come directly from Coulson himself. He also didn't tell her why he felt the need to push himself to his breaking point every day. But he supposed that they'd all had a rough go of it over the past couple of days, so he set aside the book and leaned forward.

"Look," he said, resting his elbows on his knees. "Ward may have been a real piece of work, but he was right about one thing. You have _got_ to know how to do a pull-up."

He saw something dark flash behind her eyes, but she covered it up quickly by clearing her throat and grasping the bar more tightly. "I don't know how you've been doing them," she grimaced, chuckling a little in pain, "but last time I checked…pull-ups involved a little bit more than just…hanging from the bar."

Despite everything that they had gone through recently, Triplett managed to find himself laughing at her comment. He was amazed at how put-together she could be. After all, in just the last few days, she'd been betrayed by someone she'd deeply trusted, her teammate and friend had completely forgotten who she was, and the organization she'd just become a part of had all but disintegrated. And still here she was, fighting to hold on with all of her strength. She was a survivor, no doubt. He'd figured that out the moment he'd first seen her, fighting for her life after taking two bullets to the stomach. But Triplett had met plenty of survivors. Skye had a little something extra in her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. She took things in stride, always finding a way to lighten a situation, while still refusing to be taken advantage of. She had seen the absolute worst of humanity, and yet she still managed to look for the good. She allowed herself to hope.

Triplett thought hope was something they could all use a little of at the moment.

"How are you ever gonna pull yourself up from a hanging position if you don't know how to hang first?" he asked, reaching over into his bag and tossing her a banana.

She immediately let go of the bar and landed nimbly on her feet in order to catch it, giving him a satisfactory smile. "How about never finding myself in a hanging position? Like, ever?"

"You'll thank me for this one day, trust me," Triplett assured her as he walked a few paces over to the cooler and held out a bottle of water for her to take. She raised her eyebrows at him in thanks, but he figured it was more for the small breakfast than because he'd made her hang from a pull-up bar for nearly half an hour.

"Whatever. It's still better than meditating," she said after taking a bite out of the banana. "So where's May? She already tired of being my S.O.?"

Triplett grabbed an apple before sitting back down in his chair. "She took the morning off."

"That's not a thing," Skye shook her head. "The Cavalry doesn't take mornings off."

"You shouldn't call her that, you know," he said quietly.

"I know, I know," she murmured, looking down at the floor for a second. "Habit. Sorry."

"It's a pretty killer nickname, though, I'll give you that."

And just like that, she was back, smile and all. "Right? I mean, I know it comes with a lot of baggage and everything, but I think she should just embrace it."

"Well, until she does, I think I'll stick with calling her Agent May," he said, getting up to throw away his apple core. He held his hand out for her empty banana peel. "Anyway, she had some errands to run this morning, so I told her I'd make sure you didn't slack off."

"_Oh_, I see," Skye gave him a knowing smile, taking a sip of her water. "You were being a kiss-up, just trying to get on her good side."

"You've…met the woman, right?" he asked incredulously. "You're damn right I'm trying to get on her good side. She could kill me with her eyes closed."

Skye laughed as she set the nearly empty bottle down on the ground. "Fair enough," she replied, placing her hands on her hips. "So…we done?"

"Nope," he said, folding his arms. "Now it's time for bananas."

It took less than a second for Triplett to decide that his choice of delivery had been completely worth it. Skye's look of confusion, with her eyes moving slowly from the trashcan and over back to him, was the funniest thing he'd seen in a long time. "But…" she said slowly, her finger pointing to where he'd thrown away the banana peel, "I just…"

"It's an exercise," he clarified, unable to keep from laughing as she scratched her head in embarrassment and tried to nonchalantly act like she knew what he was talking about. "Here, I'll show you." Triplett walked over to the mats they'd set out in the Bus's cargo hold and laid down on his back, extending his arms over his head and lifting his legs off the ground. "See? Like a banana. It works your core and gets you used to the pull-up position." He jumped up and pointed to the mat. "Ten minutes."

Before she could respond, there was a small buzzing sound, and Skye pulled out her phone. Triplett saw her face freeze for a moment, but she was smiling when she waved it in front of her. "As much as that banana thing sounds like _so_ much fun, Welcome Wagon duty calls. We'll have to continue this lovely little torture session later."

Even though she was still cracking jokes, Triplett could tell she was nervous. "He waking up again?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "Gotta go make that initial contact. Or…second contact." She laughed again, but he could see her hands shaking and her eyes starting to glisten with tears as she put her phone back in her pocket. "I honestly have no idea what I'm doing."

"Hey," Triplett said gently. "You've got this."

"I don't know," she replied, grabbing her flannel shirt off the back of the chair and pulling it on over her tank top. "I think I freaked him out pretty bad yesterday."

"He would've freaked out no matter what. The guy's had eight years taken away from him." Triplett was still having a hard time accepting what had happened to Fitz, as well as putting aside the anger he felt at the people responsible for putting him in that position. And it wasn't just the doctors, either. Fitz's head would never have even been touched if he hadn't found himself at the bottom of the ocean for standing up to Garrett.

Garrett. Someone Triplett had trusted with his life.

When he'd sided with Coulson, Triplett had made the decision to uphold S.H.I.E.L.D.'s original purpose and fight back against HYDRA, just like his granddad had done. But with their current vigilante status and Fitz's unpredictable condition, he didn't know how much longer they could hold out by themselves. Whatever happened, though, he knew he was with the right people. And he knew he had to put his feelings on the backburner and give everything he had to help Coulson rebuild the team. He couldn't afford to show any lack in resolve.

"All I'm saying," he continued, "is that if I was waking up in an unfamiliar place, missing all that time, I would be the luckiest amnesiac in the world to have so many people looking out for me."

He could tell she was trying to remain strong, but her smile was weak at best. "Yeah," she nodded, heading down the ramp. "Lucky him."

* * *

Jemma moved around Fitz's bed quietly, making sure his vitals were in check before she left the room. He was stirring already, but she didn't want to be the first thing he saw when he fully woke up. Or maybe she just didn't want him to look at her like he had earlier.

Like she'd been a stranger.

She carefully smoothed his blankets down for probably the hundredth time. Triplett had tried to make her rest the night before, and she'd even managed to squeeze in a couple hours of fitful sleep. But it hadn't been long before she found herself back in Fitz's room, holding his hand lightly in hers and letting his pulse be her only source of reassurance that he was still there. He didn't remember her, but at least he was alive. And even if she could never be his best friend again, she wasn't going to give up on him.

Because she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if she'd been in his position, he would never have given up on her.

She'd stayed by his side through the night again, afraid that if he woke up alone he would be even more distraught than he'd been earlier. Triplett had passed the room at one point, and Jemma had been nearly certain he was going to admonish her for getting out of bed. But he'd simply looked the other way and silently walked on, the hint of a smile on his face the only indication that he'd seen her.

Jemma was still dumbfounded as to how the team could place such steadfast faith in her ability to help Fitz recuperate. She had absolutely no idea how to help Fitz, apart from attending to his basic health, something she'd been doing practically since the day she'd met him. Jemma was no expert in brain injuries, especially brain injuries involving memory loss.

Earlier, Skye had let Jemma borrow her laptop, but after sifting through over twenty different academic journals, Jemma realized that the type of memory loss Fitz was experiencing would not have been documented in any scientific publication. Even in the deep recesses of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files, now public record, Skye and Jemma had only been able to find one mention of the memory overwrite machine. There'd been nothing about how the device was used to harvest memories, or whether or not it had the ability to restore lost ones. Jemma hadn't expected to find anything useful, but the lack of information had made her feel all the more helpless.

Jemma wanted to help Fitz. More than anything.

She just didn't know how to do that.

Her hands stilled on the blanket, and Jemma once more found herself staring at the face of her best friend. She hated herself for even entertaining the notion, but she almost wished he could stay like this, peacefully sleeping under her watchful care where nothing else could hurt him further. When he was sleeping, she could pretend that he still cared about her, she could pretend that he still knew everyone on their team, and she could pretend that the pain she was feeling was not the worst pain she'd ever felt. Because when he opened his eyes again, she would cease to be Jemma to him. She wouldn't even be the wide-eyed overly enthusiastic biochemist he'd met at the Academy all those years ago. She was someone else now, someone who'd seen more of the world than she'd bargained for, someone with more guilt than she knew how to handle. And the one person who'd always known what to say was now just a memory.

Thankfully she was startled out of her miserable thoughts as Skye's head popped into the doorway of Fitz's room. "Is he almost awake?" she whispered.

Jemma quickly walked out into the hallway and motioned for Skye to follow her a few meters away into the spacious room that served as the Playground's kitchen. "He's just stirring at the moment, but he'll probably be fully conscious in a few minutes," she replied, pouring hot water from the electric kettle into the mug she'd prepared earlier. "Now, normally before an MRI he shouldn't have any food or drink, but since his condition is not particularly…normal, I figured this would be all right." She spooned in a sinful amount of sugar before placing the steaming cup into Skye's hands. "And…" she added slowly, glancing over Skye's shoulder at the empty doorway, "if you maybe wanted to…give him a few of these." Skye looked down in amusement at the Skittles Jemma had passed over to her. "You didn't get those from me," Jemma told her solemnly.

Skye gave her a look of bewilderment before she burst out laughing. "Did you just try to sneak candy to Fitz behind your own back?"

"I'm his doctor, Skye!" Jemma sighed exasperatedly. "I can't be spoiling him, too. Believe it or not, I still have _some_ sense of medical propriety."

"Whatever, weirdo," Skye smiled, pocketing the Skittles. "So he needs to get ready for an MRI. Anything else you need me to tell him?"

Jemma shook her head as they walked back towards Fitz's room. "No, I think that's about it for now. But…if he mentions anything to you about any discomfort he's feeling or pain or anything like that, could you let me know?"

"Of course, Simmons," Skye murmured quietly. They'd reached the door, but Fitz still appeared to be on the edges of sleep, so Skye leaned casually against the frame as she looked in on him. "You know what I don't get?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

Jemma wasn't sure she was ready for whatever question Skye was going to ask. "What?" she ventured nervously.

"Why Fitz did what he did down there," Skye answered, holding the still-steaming cup of tea closer to her, almost as if its warmth were a source of comfort. "I mean, I know _why_ he did it," she corrected herself. "It's _you_, for God's sake, I just…I just don't know _how_ he could do it, you know? How he could try to make you leave him down there, especially after what happened to Ellie."

Jemma froze, but she knew that Skye had already seen her wince. She heard her give a small gasp. "You still haven't told him, have you? Oh, _Simmons_…"

Jemma avoided Skye's gaze, partly to blink back her tears and partly because she knew Skye could read her face like a book. "A lot's happened recently, Skye. It just never came up."

"It never came up?" Skye repeated in disbelief. "Not even in that tiny little enclosed space you guys were in down on the ocean floor?"

"Oh, because that would have been really appropriate, Skye," Jemma replied defensively. "Look where we are, Fitz. At the bottom of the sea with no way of escape. This reminds me of that one time my sister nearly drowned when we were kids. She almost died and I blamed myself for years." She scoffed. "How uplifting."

Skye didn't respond right away, and her voice came out somewhat strangled when she did. "I'm sorry, Simmons. I didn't mean-"

"I know you didn't mean it like that, Skye," Jemma sighed, looking over at Skye apologetically. "But I honestly didn't think we were going to make it out of there alive. I thought bringing it up then, bringing Ellie up at all, really, would have just made everything worse. You can understand that a little bit, can't you?"

"Yeah," Skye whispered, her cheeks a light shade of pink as she stared down at the tea in her hands.

Jemma felt badly for the way she had snapped at Skye, but truthfully she had placed Ellie in the back of her mind for a reason. When she'd first seen Fitz after Fury had let her out of the hyperbaric chamber, her knees had gone weak at how still he'd looked. The pale face, the blue lips, the eyes closed in a way that appeared much too close to death. Everything reminded her of that awful day back at Redmires Cove when Ellie had fallen through the ice. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on her, either, how the two people she cared about most in the world had almost drowned because of her. She knew Ellie had forgiven her long ago. In fact, Ellie hadn't blamed Jemma at all for the incident. But seeing Fitz's motionless body had somehow transformed Jemma into her eight-year-old self again, if only for a moment, and all her old feelings of guilt had come flooding back at full force.

But despite the eerie similarities between the two situations, Jemma was still able to recognize that this one was far worse than the other. After all, Ellie had been perfectly fine afterwards. She hadn't broken any bones, she hadn't had any lapses in consciousness, she hadn't even gotten a cold in the days that followed.

And she certainly hadn't experienced any memory loss.

Jemma knew that Skye meant well, though. She was about to change the subject, but before she could, Coulson and Billy entered the hallway, making their way towards them.

"How's he doing?" Coulson asked.

Jemma briefly glanced over at Fitz again, who was fidgeting slightly in the final stages of sleep. "He's just about awake," she replied. "But I thought it'd probably be best if we let him wake up naturally."

"Good idea," he said, peeking over her shoulder into the room. "The less he's confused about, the better." He turned to Skye. "Hey, when you're done here, Agent Koenig was wondering if you'd be willing to join him in the comm/sat room."

"I heard about that stunt you and Eric pulled over at Providence with hacking the NSA," Billy spoke up, a look of mild awe on his face. "Pretty impressive. We've been trying to start our comms back up again, see if we can re-establish links with some of the other bases, but it's been a slow-going process. The Director here and I were thinking that with your kind of talent, you'd be able to expedite our efforts. And of course you'd be able to use the resources to help with your Index. Congratulations, by the way."

"Thanks," Skye smiled, even though Jemma could tell she was a little overwhelmed by all of the responsibility coming her way. "And yeah, that sounds great. I don't know how long this'll take, though," she said, gesturing behind her at Fitz.

"Oh, take your time," Billy insisted. "Just come on over whenever you're ready. I'll go and set everything up. Did you need anything else, boss?" he asked Coulson.

Coulson shook his head. "Thank you, Billy. You've been a big help. I know everything's been a little hectic lately, but I can't tell you how nice it is to have a place to stay."

"Just doing my job, sir," Koenig replied as he started to head back down the hallway. "Gotta get back to fighting the good fight, right?"

"Right," Coulson sighed, turning back around to Skye. "You ready for this?"

Skye nodded absently. "I think so. Yeah. I've just got to – _whoa_, A.C.," she suddenly breathed. "Are you feeling okay?"

Jemma quickly turned her head to see why Skye sounded so concerned and immediately scolded herself. She was technically supposed to be the caretaker of the entire team, not just Fitz. So she should have noticed the pronounced worry lines in his forehead, the dark circles under his eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped forward, the burden of some invisible weight crushing them down.

But he simply shrugged off Skye's question. "I'm fine," he said indifferently, as if the notion of him being anything but fine were ridiculous. "Just a little behind on sleep. The beds here are _really_ not that comfortable, are they? I never thought I'd say this, but I kinda miss my bunk on the Bus."

Jemma could tell that Coulson wasn't being completely truthful (even though the beds were admittedly rather disagreeable), but she didn't get a chance to order him to get some rest before she saw movement in her peripheral vision. Fitz was stretching his good arm over his head and blinking sleepily up at the tiled ceiling.

"He's awake," Jemma whispered, turning to nod at Skye. "It should be fine if you went in now."

But Skye was frozen, her eyes widened in terror as she stared open-mouthed at Fitz. "Oh, God. I can't do this," she shook her head, starting to back away from the door.

"Yes, you can," Coulson insisted, gently pushing her back towards the room.

"But I don't know what I'm doing," she protested. "I've never done this before."

Coulson met her eyes. "Just be honest with him. You've always been good at that."

"Honest," Skye repeated, nodding a bit to herself. "Yeah. I can do that." Jemma almost smiled. Brutal honesty was Skye's specialty.

There was a brief pause as Skye hesitated in the doorway of Fitz's room. Jemma thought that Coulson was going to give her another push, but he chose a different tactic instead. "You want me to go in with you?"

The tea in Skye's hands nearly spilled over as she spun around to face Coulson. "Would you?" she asked, her eyes pleading with him. It didn't take a lot for her to persuade him, though.

"Sure," he replied.

Skye closed her eyes in relief. "Thank you," she said before turning back around. "Okay," she breathed out slowly. "Here goes nothing."

As Coulson and Skye entered the room, Jemma moved forward to lift up the doorstop. Out of habit, she glanced over at Fitz and nearly gasped when his eyes met hers. It was a split second, gone in a blink, but it was enough to feel like a knife to Jemma's gut. She'd thought that that first glimpse of his empty expression had been painful enough, but she'd underestimated the level of pain she could feel. With that second glimpse, she realized that it would hurt every single time. Because every time was a reminder that even though she'd pulled him out of the water, she hadn't been fast enough, strong enough, or good enough.

He was still alive. But she'd still lost him.

She quickly broke away from his gaze and darted out of the room, walking a few paces away before leaning up against the wall. Jemma realized that she'd failed to actually shut the door behind her, so she was able to hear a little of the exchange happening inside.

"Morning, Fitz," she heard Skye say brightly. "How are you feeling?"

"Um…a bit better, I suppose," Fitz replied in a drowsy voice.

"Well, hopefully you'll be feeling great soon, because you have got a totally awesome doctor who's been looking out for you and she's gonna make sure you get back on your feet as quickly as possible." There was a soft clink, and Jemma realized that Skye must have set the mug down next to Fitz. "Listen, I'm really sorry about all that craziness. It was probably super confusing for you, so I was wondering if maybe we could start over?"

A quiet creak told Jemma that someone had probably lifted up the doorstop. Fitz must have nodded in assent, though, because Skye continued. "Well, I'm Agent Skye. With S.H.I.E.L.D. We're the good guys, I promise. And this here is the Director of our little shindig, the one and only Phillip J. Coulson. What's the J stand for, A.C.?"

"That's classified," Jemma heard Coulson reply.

"Bull-" Skye began before her voice was cut off by the soft click of the door.

Jemma stood in silence as she waited for Coulson and Skye to finish briefing Fitz. She momentarily debated whether or not she should go to her room, or finish preparing for Fitz's fMRI, or do anything productive, but she knew she wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything until she was aware of the outcome of their conversation. She began pacing after a while, her footfalls the only mark of time she kept. At one point, a granola bar was held out to her, but she waved it away.

"Not hungry," she muttered.

"You've gotta eat something, Simmons," Triplett replied, stepping in front of her so she was forced to stop pacing. "We can't have you fainting in the middle of the hallway."

"I'll eat later," she promised, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. The thought of food still made her feel ill. "Just…not right now."

Triplett didn't look convinced, but he dropped the subject. "Okay," he nodded. "How much longer do you think-"

Just then Fitz's door opened, and Jemma sidestepped around Triplett to meet Coulson as he exited the room. Skye was following closely behind him, but she quickly walked away from the group, rounding the corner at the end of the hallway. She hadn't walked away fast enough, though. Jemma had seen the tears on her face.

"Sir, what is it?" Jemma asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking.

"He's fine, Simmons," Coulson reassured her. "He's still awake if you want to go check on him. And he's doing much better than before. He still doesn't remember us, he's still pretty confused about everything, but he's willing to let us help him recover. This is good. If he wants to start physical therapy here and see if we can help him with his memory, it means we've gained some trust with him."

His words were comforting, but Jemma knew he was withholding something. "But…" she prodded.

"But…" Coulson sighed. "After he's fully recovered, he doesn't want to stay."

"What do you mean, sir?" Triplett asked. "Where does he want to go?"

Coulson was still looking at Jemma. "Home," he replied, his voice coming as close to cracking as she had ever heard. Jemma was suddenly glad that her stomach was empty. "To Scotland."


	6. Chapter 6

Jemma was quick to recover, even though Coulson's words had felt like an additional punch to her already worn-out stomach. "Can you really blame him, sir?" she asked quietly. "He's only just woken up in an underground bunker having no clue about what's happened to him or whether or not he's going mad or if we're even to be trusted at all. Of course he'd want to go home."

She saw Triplett shift a little so that he was facing more towards the both of them. "But that all can change, right? We've just gotta give him some time. With all of us helping him out, he's bound to remember something."

Jemma appreciated Triplett's encouraging words, but she almost wished that he wasn't so bloody optimistic about the situation. Neither she nor Coulson needed false hope right now, and Fitz certainly didn't need to have anyone pressuring him to stay when he very much wanted to leave.

"What do you think, Simmons?" Coulson asked, his eyes still trained on her. She could tell that he was being cautious, unsure of her current emotional state, but that he couldn't help but hope for Fitz's full recovery. "You think you can help him?"

Jemma fought the urge to throw her hands up in exasperation. Why was everyone so certain that this was something she could fix? Didn't they know that out of all the tight spots they'd ever been in, she'd only ever been able to fix their problems with Fitz by her side? She was all but powerless on her own. "Sir, I can help him physically recover, yes. And we can still run the MRI." She sighed, making sure to push back the hysteria she felt coming to the surface again. "But even if we do ascertain which parts of his brain have been damaged, I still won't have a clue as to how to go about restoring his memory. From what Dr. Russell's told us, this is hardly a normal brain injury, and the chances of me being able to-"

"I know all that, Simmons," Coulson said, holding a hand up to stop her. "But you're still going to do everything you can."

Jemma swallowed the rest of her arguments, the look on Coulson's face all too familiar. She had to fix this, no matter what the cost. And failure wasn't an option. "Yes, sir," she nodded after a moment.

"Good. Because I wasn't asking," he replied. "And that's one finger I'm not ready to cut off just yet."

Jemma was taken aback, and was somewhat relieved to see that Triplett looked just as baffled as she felt. "Pardon?"

But Coulson simply seemed embarrassed. "It was a…thing Fury used to say," he waved his hand dismissively. "I didn't…say it the right…yeah, I've gotta work on it. Anyway, my point is that there's not a lot of people out there that I can trust right now. I can't afford to lose any of those that I do. That includes Fitz." He paused, his expression softening before he added, "And that includes you too, Jemma."

With those simple words of his, Jemma was suddenly made aware of the true weight of the task set before her. The health and mental stability of her best friend were not the only things at stake. She and the rest of the team were also ex-agents of a corrupt organization trying to reclaim their legitimacy in an unstable world, a world nearly torn apart by HYDRA. With that kind of uncertainty, Coulson needed to make sure that this new S.H.I.E.L.D. was founded with people on whom he could rely. Jemma hadn't given the situation much thought, but Coulson must have known her well enough to know that Fitz's predicament dominated her priorities. And he must have also known that if Fitz chose to leave, Jemma would have one less reason to stay.

Perhaps her only reason to stay.

Jemma cast aside her doubts, deciding that the question of her future could be saved for another time. She simply nodded again, sure that if she spoke she might lose what little composure she had left.

"You'll have all the help you need," Coulson continued. "We're all with you on this. But…" he sighed. "Maybe we should think about…bringing his mother out here."

"All due respect, sir," Triplett began, "I'm not so sure that's the best idea."

"I know there are risks-"

"He's right, sir," Jemma spoke up. "Not only would we be putting her in potential danger by having her here, but it might also worsen Fitz's condition."

"What do you mean?" Coulson asked warily.

"I mean…" Jemma hesitated, appalled that until that moment she hadn't even thought of Fitz's mother. "Seeing his mum right now might not be as helpful as you'd think. She's a lot different than how he'd remember her."

"Damn," he muttered. "I forgot about that. That was three years ago, wasn't it?"

Before she could answer, Triplett nudged her arm. "What's he talking about, Simmons?" he asked quietly.

Jemma was still stunned that she'd neglected to think of something so incredibly important, but she managed to briefly explain the situation. "A few years ago, Fitz's mum fell really ill. At first the doctors thought it was just a run-of-the-mill cold, but it turned out to be a severe case of pneumonia. She had to be hospitalized for nearly two months, and they weren't sure she was going to make it at one point. Fitz kept a brave face, but he still took it pretty hard. I think he was really upset he couldn't be there with her."

"My God, that's awful," Triplett murmured.

"Yes, well she's been doing much better lately. She hasn't had a major scare since, as far as I know, but-"

"Her immune system's been shot," Triplett finished.

"Exactly," she nodded. "Considering her health, traveling abroad is probably not the best option for her. Or for Fitz. But…someone should definitely tell her what's happened." Jemma closed her eyes for a second as she rested her hands on her neck. "Poor Helen," she murmured. "She must be worried sick."

"I'll take care of it, Simmons," Coulson assured her, turning to head back down the corridor. "You just focus on Fitz."

"Actually, sir," she called out to him. "Could I be the one to tell her?" He stopped to face her again, his eyebrows raised in confusion. "It's just…I told her Fitz would be fine out in the field, back when we first joined the team." Jemma forced herself not to break eye contact with him. "I should be the one to tell her I was wrong."

"Simmons…" Coulson began.

"It's my responsibility, sir," Jemma said firmly. "She should hear it from me."

There was a long pause as Coulson calculated his options. He didn't look enthusiastic about the idea, but he must have seen the determination in her expression. "Okay," he said finally. "Let me know when you want me to set up the call."

"Thank you, sir," Jemma replied, trying to ignore the new dread she felt settling in the pit of her stomach. As far as phone calls went, this was one she was not looking forward to making.

Triplett stood next to her with his arms crossed as they watched Coulson exit the corridor. "I'd tell you it wasn't your fault. But you wouldn't believe me, would you?"

Jemma thought about responding, but she figured anything she said would sound either insincere or terribly depressing. She knew he was watching her carefully, so before he could say anything else, she briskly walked through the doorway and let it shut behind her.

It was only after she was actually in the room that she remembered. The person she normally went to when she was upset wasn't there anymore.

Fitz's head snapped up at seeing her enter the room, and she pretended not to see him fumbling with the Skittles in his lap as he tried to covertly hide them underneath his blanket. "Oh, er…hi," he stammered.

"Hi," Jemma said after a moment, using all of her willpower to remain there instead of running right back out into the corridor. It was bad enough when things were awkward between her and Fitz, but this was a whole new level of awkwardness for them. It would take a lot of time for them to adjust, that was certain. Jemma tried not to think about the possibility of _never_ adjusting. Fitz was here, and he was alive, and she would be damned if she didn't do everything she could to earn his trust again.

"How's everything feeling?" she asked as she made her way over to the monitors near his bed. His wide eyes followed her movements, but she kept her focus on closing the valves of his saline and dextrose bags.

"Um…fine, I-I guess," he said, a bit of wariness in his voice. "Well, I mean, besides-"

"The memory loss part," she finished for him, smiling a little to herself as she double-checked his vitals. "That kind of thing always puts a damper on a situation, doesn't it?"

She hadn't expected him to laugh, because he wouldn't have done so under normal circumstances, but his bewildered expression made her wish she had just kept her mouth shut. "I was joking, Fitz," she said softly.

"Oh," he nodded, not looking any more relieved. "Right, of course. Yeah."

Jemma knew that he would awkwardly stammer on if she didn't interrupt him. "I'm going to take out your IVs now, since you're pretty well-hydrated at the moment and it would probably be more comfortable for you. Would that be all right?"

Fitz simply nodded again, so Jemma internally braced herself before she reached out to touch his arm, the image of him flinching away from her still burnt in her memory. Jemma knew that mentally preparing herself for it wouldn't make a shred of difference.

But he didn't flinch this time.

She breathed out slowly, taking her time as she turned over his hand and worked on removing the first needle. "They told you that we're going to be doing an MRI, right?"

"Yup," he replied, looking away as the needle came out. "To see where exactly I'm all messed up, yeah?"

"To see which parts of your brain have been affected," Jemma corrected him gently, disposing of the needle and making her way around to the other side of his bed. "We want to make sure we can help you recover as quickly as possible. You're not having any trouble with your coordination, are you? You can still feel your legs and everything?"

"I can feel them, sure," he said. "Not so sure how they'll do with the whole walking bit. I haven't exactly gotten to try that out yet."

Jemma gave him an apologetic smile. "After your exam we'll let you stretch them out for a little while. We don't want you to overexert yourself too soon. But it's good that you can feel them," she told him as she started taking out the last needle. "That means your cerebrum is more or less intact."

"Brilliant," Fitz muttered sarcastically, wincing at the pain in his arm. Jemma quickly put a cotton swab and plaster on the small wound and made sure not to roll her eyes at Fitz's squeamishness. She realized that these moments would be the hardest, when pieces of the Fitz she knew could be glimpsed in his speech and behavior. She would have to remind herself constantly that he was unaware of just how well she knew him.

So when she began to pull away and she felt his fingertip lightly brush her arm, it didn't strike her as unusual until he abruptly yanked it back. "Listen, I, um…I'm sorry about…about earlier," he said, looking down at his lap. "I shouldn't have wigged out on you."

"There's no need to apologize, Fitz," Jemma said, carefully starting to remove the electrodes from his head. "It's completely understandable for you to be-"

"No, it was wrong, okay?" Jemma was startled by Fitz's sudden intensity, her hands going still as she held the last electrode. And when she met his equally intense gaze, she found that she couldn't break away. She knew he no longer recognized her, knew that she meant nothing to him anymore. But in that moment, she couldn't help but hope that there was at least _something_ in there.

In the end, Fitz was the one to look away first. "I mean, you were only trying to help," he said quietly, glancing down at his lap again.

Jemma quickly removed the last electrode from his head, trying not to let her hands linger for too long on his brow. "Well, there's another bit of good news," she announced in as brightly of a voice as she could muster. "If you're remembering things that have only just happened, then your short-term memory hasn't been damaged."

Fitz had a small smile on his face, but his words were bitter. "I can't remember what happened to me during the last eight bloody years, but if I can remember yesterday, now that's a damn miracle."

"Fitz…"

"I know, I know, I don't really mean that," he muttered. "I know it's good you don't have to start from scratch every day." He sighed, pulling on a loose thread in the blanket. "It's just all a bit much, you know?"

"I know, Fitz," Jemma replied before clearing her throat. "Well, your fMRI should be ready in a couple of hours, so hopefully that will provide more answers as to how we can go about your recovery. Now, I can't allow you to eat anything before the exam, but you can still have tea and then you'll be able to have whatever you like afterwards." She paused, hovering near the doorway, and her heart ached at seeing how lost Fitz looked in his bed, thousands of miles away from the safe and comfortable lab she'd dragged him out of. "Did you…did you want anything else?"

Fitz shook his head, waving his hand absentmindedly in the air. "My thoughts are kind of all over the place right now."

Jemma's face broke into a smile. Finally, something she knew how to fix. "I know just the thing," she said before darting out of the room. Less than a minute later, she held out a pad of paper for him to take and set down a few sharpened pencils on his bedside table.

"What-" Fitz started to ask, looking at her in open confusion.

"This used to help," Jemma explained, her cheeks beginning to burn as she realized how overly enthusiastic she must have appeared. "Sometimes you need to just-"

"Draw what I see," he finished, his head slowly moving back and forth between her and the pad of paper.

"Exactly," she smiled, realizing after a beat that he had completed her sentence. He didn't seem to notice, though, setting down the paper in his lap and grabbing one of the pencils in his free hand. Almost immediately a shape began to take form on the page.

Jemma was about to leave, knowing he worked best with minimal distraction, but he spoke up again.

"He said we were partners?" he asked, glancing up at her. "The man who was in here before, I mean."

Jemma hoped he didn't see her face fall. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it still happened. Probably because she hadn't expected his words to hurt as much as they did.

Partners. It was such a commonplace word, used to describe the most basic of relationships. Jemma felt it hardly encompassed everything she and Fitz had been to each other, the years of trust and friendship that had developed since they'd met all those years ago. Calling herself Fitz's partner felt like a great injustice to the entity that had been FitzSimmons.

And yet it was the only word that actually _did_ encompass everything they were to each other. Fitz _had_ been her partner, just in more ways than he would understand at the moment.

"Yes," she said finally, not finding the strength to elaborate. How could she tell him how much he meant to her without sounding raving mad?

But Fitz had already looked away, back at the paper under his hand. "Strange," she heard him murmur.

"What's that?" she asked, stepping closer to him despite her desire to leave.

"I'm just…not exactly a partner person."

It was uncanny. The inflection, the tone, the way his eyebrows furrowed together in mild disapproval. It was like being transported back in time.

There was that déjà vu again.

"Was it…something I said?" she heard Fitz ask, startling her out of her thoughts. Jemma was confused until she realized that her eyes had filled with tears. She quickly blinked them away, feeling like an idiot.

"Oh, no…no, it's nothing," she assured him. "It's just…well, that's what you said to me the day we met, actually."

"Did I?" he asked softly. "And…and what did you say after that?"

Jemma laughed. "I said you'd better get used to it, because how else are you going to solve the problem of your freezing device without a crystalline nucleation process to actually make it work?" She sighed, realizing that Fitz probably hadn't followed a word she'd said. "I understood where you were coming from, why you wanted to work alone. But I said…sometimes it's just a little easier to fix things-"

"Together," he nodded before his eyes widened. "What-"

"You're not-"

"It just-"

"You didn't-"

"I don't know why I said that," he stammered, scratching his head. "That was weird."

"It wasn't weird, Fitz," Jemma replied, trying to keep her voice steady even though her chest had started to hurt again. She didn't know why she had allowed herself to hope in that brief instant, when just for that instant it was like nothing had changed. Of course his outburst had meant nothing. After all, he'd still looked at her as if she were just an acquaintance. "My guess is that even though your memory has suffered, there are still some things that you've retained, much like your muscle memory. I suppose it'll just be a few phrases here and there, things that you would've said or heard frequently. It's not uncommon."

"Oh...all right then," Fitz said, looking somewhat disappointed. "Have you seen this kind of thing before?"

Jemma had gotten better at lying, but she still didn't think she could successfully lie to Fitz, whether he remembered her or not. "No," she answered.

"So you don't know if you'll be able to help me?"

"I'm going to do everything I can," she told him. "But truthfully…no."

Fitz nodded again. "Well, thanks for being honest, I guess. And for…" he gestured towards the paper.

She managed to give him a tight smile. "Of course. I'll just leave you alone then," she said, turning to leave.

"Simmons?"

Jemma stopped in her tracks, rendered immobile by her own surname, of all things. How could he know her name? Did he remember her all of a sudden? She wracked her brain for possibilities, but his next words explained everything. "That's your name, isn't it?"

How could she have been so utterly foolish? Of course the others would have mentioned her name to him. How could she have even entertained the notion of him remembering her? It was never going to happen. The sooner she accepted that, the sooner she could stop feeling as if her heart were being trampled on.

She took a deep breath before turning around. "Yes," she replied.

Fitz didn't appear to notice her distress. "Do you know if that other girl is coming back?" he asked, pointing in the general direction of the doorway. "Skye, I think she said her name was?"

Jemma could have sworn her heart skipped a beat, although she wouldn't have been able to explain why. When Fitz had first met Skye back when the hacker had joined their team, it had been rather painfully obvious that he'd fancied her. Jemma hadn't necessarily minded then, and Fitz had started acting less and less awkward around Skye as they'd all become closer. But there was something different about the situation now.

Maybe because before, Jemma had at least had the certainty that Fitz cared about their friendship.

"She's…got a lot of things to do around the compound, what with all the responsibility she's been given and everything," Jemma answered him, keeping her voice neutral. "But she'll be back, yes."

"Oh, okay," he replied, fiddling with the pencil. "I just felt bad is all. She looked really upset when she left."

"It wasn't you, Fitz," Jemma sighed. "Well, I suppose it _was_ you, but…she's just finding it hard to accept your condition right now. Everyone is."

"I still don't understand how that's even possible," he shook his head.

Jemma thought through her words carefully before she spoke. "A lot's happened in the past few years, Fitz. In the last couple of weeks alone we've seen a lot more than we _ever_ expected to see. It's one hundred percent normal for you to be confused right now. But don't worry," she smiled. "We'll try not to overload you with too much information all at once."

"No, please don't do that," Fitz pleaded with that odd intensity he'd shown earlier. "I _want_ to know."

Jemma eyed him doubtfully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

She studied his face, wondering where he was coming from. But she had to admit, had she been in his position, she would have wanted to know everything too. "All right, then," she nodded. "Well, we'll all be helping you out, so don't be afraid to ask any questions. And Skye should come round again soon."

"She's okay then?"

Jemma hesitated, remembering the tear tracks on Skye's face. "She'll be fine. I think you just scared her a bit, that's all."

Fitz had an odd look on his face, as if he were trying to figure something out. "I didn't scare you, though, did I?" he asked.

Jemma sent every ounce of energy she had into keeping her smile on her face. It would only work if she didn't waver.

"No," she replied, her voice steady. It wasn't a lie, not really. Because after he had nodded again and returned to his paper, she slipped quietly out of the room and whispered the other half of the truth.

"You terrified me."

* * *

"Anything?"

"Nope," she replied, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she pulled into the lot. "Streiten's gone off the grid."

"You think he's dead?"

"I don't know," May said as she put the questionably requisitioned truck in park. She hated being the bearer of even more bad news, but it was always best not to sugarcoat things with Coulson. Especially considering the fact that she had only just earned back his trust. "Maybe. Wherever he is, we won't be able to find him until he wants to be found."

"Damn," Coulson muttered, and May could hear his disappointment through the phone. As the only doctor they knew of that had personally been present for Coulson's surgery, Streiten had been their last line of hope for helping Fitz. It was all up to Simmons now. And while Coulson had every confidence that she was up for the job, May wasn't nearly as certain.

Because the entire situation was all too familiar to May. And she wasn't completely certain that the _last_ person she'd seen undergo mysterious brain surgery had fully recovered.

"Did Skye find anything?" she asked, hoping that she could divert the conversation away from Fitz.

"No, she and Koenig are still setting up the comms. She said there was some kind of weird signal that seemed to come from somewhere in the Caribbean, but it disappeared before they could pinpoint it."

"Fluke?"

"Probably. We're operating on a pretty specific frequency, so it could be a distress call. My guess? Just someone flipping through the channels."

"Gotcha."

Coulson sighed. "Where are you now?"

"Gas station, a little outside Tucson. I should be back before nightfall."

"Okay," he said. "Do I have to tell you to be careful?"

May rolled her eyes and hung up the phone, glad that he couldn't see the smirk on her face.

After filling up the tank and making sure she hadn't been followed, she headed into the building and wandered through the aisles, arbitrarily grabbing obscene amounts of junk food. Normally, she wouldn't have approved of putting that kind of garbage into anyone's body, but she figured that after all the team had gone through, they deserved a little indulgence.

Just as she was about to bring everything to the register, her eyes fell on the small object. She couldn't say why she decided to get it, or if she thought it would make a difference. But her motivations hardly mattered after she exited the building and drove away.

Because only one person in the world would ever know that she had bought it. And that person was in a tiny gas station a little outside of Tucson.

* * *

"Wait, I'm lost. He married who now?"

Skye sighed in mild exasperation. "Kate Middleton."

Fitz was shaking his head. "I don't know who any of these people are."

"You don't know the royal family? What kind of British person are you?" Skye looked over at Simmons, hoping that she would help her out a little, but Simmons was dutifully examining the charts from Fitz's MRI. She did have a little smile on her face, though.

"No, I know the royal family, okay?" Fitz replied. "I just don't see how they have anything to do with anything actually important."

"But it was, like, the wedding of the century. You _had_ to have seen it."

Skye heard Jemma laughing quietly. "Actually, Skye, Fitz boycotted the whole event. He claimed it was because he didn't want to be a part of glorifying an obsolete regime, but I think the real deciding factor was the prospect of getting out of bed at six in the morning in order to watch it."

Fitz snapped his fingers and pointed over his shoulder at Simmons. "That, you see that? Right there. Absolutely no consideration for their fellow countrymen overseas that might've wanted to watch it. Not that I would have, of course. Glad to see I had some sense."

"Oh, you watched it, Fitz," Simmons said, putting his brain scans into a folder. "You just complained about it the whole time."

Skye tried to hide her snicker at the bewildered look on Fitz's face. Simmons continued before he could argue with her. "Skye, you should be telling him about the _really_ significant events of recent history," she admonished her. "You know, like-"

"Michael Jackson's death," Skye nodded solemnly.

"Oh, I know that one," Fitz spoke up. "Did he die? That's a shame. I thought he was quite good, actually."

Simmons went on as if neither of them had spoken. "Important _scientific_ events. Like…oh!" she exclaimed, her face lit up in excitement. "Like the discovery of Higgs boson. Fitz, they've found it."

"No way," he said, trying to turn so he could see Simmons. "And it matches all the predictions of the Standard Model?"

"Not all of them yet," Simmons clarified. "It does have positive parity and zero spin, and they're still examining the particle's behavior, but it's starting to look more and more likely that-"

"Multiple Higgs bosons exist," Fitz finished, looking amazed. "I can't believe they found it."

Skye did her best to not roll her eyes. Even when Fitz didn't remember Simmons, FitzSimmons still managed to make her feel left out. "Is that something you guys were working on at Hogwarts?"

Simmons laughed. "Hardly, Skye. This is something that the particle physics world has been looking for for the greater part of…nearly fifty years. It's monumental, really, to find something that could prove the existence of-"

"Hogwarts?"

Skye and Simmons both looked over at Fitz, who had stopped drawing abruptly.

"She means the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy we went to, Fitz."

"But Hogwarts," he repeated slowly. "If I can't remember the last eight years, then surely in that time…"

"Oh…my…God," Skye said, her mouth hanging open.

"What?" asked Simmons, her eyes darting back and forth between her and Fitz.

Skye leaned over to her. "He _hasn't read the last Harry Potter book, Simmons_," she whispered.

Simmons's eyes grew wide. "But that means-"

Skye was nodding excitedly. "He doesn't know about-"

"Hey, hey," Fitz interrupted them, making a show of plugging his right ear with his good hand. "Don't ruin it."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," Skye said mischievously. She didn't know how she was going to use this new information, but the prank ideas were definitely brewing. Fitz had gone back to his paper, though, which was filled with sketches of what Skye assumed were invention designs. "What are you working on?"

Fitz shook his head as he erased something. "I've been playing around with a few ideas here and there, just things that pop into my head. I'm not sure if I was working on them, you know, before, but I thought maybe if I just got them down they'd at least _start_ to make sense."

"What's that one?" Skye asked, pointing to a shape that looked like a cylinder.

Fitz scratched behind his ear, seeming surprised that she would be interested in his work. "Oh, I've, um, been looking for a way to create a non-lethal weapon that would still be able to stop an assailant. I've got most of the parts figured out, these bullets should have a pretty heavy stopping power, but I haven't quite found a way to incapacitate the target without killing them with the force. It should break up under the subcutaneous tissue, but-"

"Dendrotoxin," Simmons interjected, sharing a smile with Skye.

Fitz looked even more confused than before. "Like…from a snake?"

Simmons sighed, gently grabbing the pencil from Fitz as she scribbled something next to the bullet designs. "Yes. Dendrotoxin stops the target by blocking certain potassium channels in the neurons, creating-"

"Instant paralysis," Fitz breathed, staring down at the designs in incredulity. "That's brilliant, that is."

Simmons gave him a satisfactory smile before moving over to his monitors again, and Fitz pointed his pencil at Skye. "All right, give me another one."

Skye sighed, but she was a little pleased that she could participate in the conversation again. "Okay, let's see…what else…oh!" she said, sitting up straighter. "Swine flu."

"H1N1," Simmons said in a weary voice.

"Be glad you don't remember that. It was awful. Hmm…what else…we caught Bin Laden. Finally. Um…the economy crashed. Again. And the Mayan apocalypse-"

"Didn't happen," Fitz finished, nodding in approval.

"How did you know?"

Fitz raised his eyebrows at her and scoffed. "Please. That was never going to happen. And besides, we're here now, aren't we?"

"Right," Skye said, closing her eyes in embarrassment. "But," she pointed her finger at him, "we almost had another equally disturbing incident when New York City was attacked by _aliens from outer space_."

The pencil in Fitz's hand fell into his lap as he stared at her in shock. Skye suppressed her laughter long enough so she could continue, but Fitz's reaction had already been worth it. "Don't worry, though. They were defeated. By Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers, and Thor."

Skye had hoped for a classic Fitz freak-out moment, so she was a little disappointed when he just rolled his eyes. "That's a load of crap. You know, it's not very nice to play around with amnesiacs. We don't remember much, but we remember those of you that poke fun at us. And we're not gullible."

"I'm completely serious, Fitz," Skye assured him.

"Let me get this straight," Fitz laughed bitterly. "You expect me to believe…that the CEO of a weapons manufacturing company, a nuclear physicist, a costumed hero from the 40s, and the Norse god of thunder...were responsible for protecting the planet from an alien invasion?"

"Yup," Skye said simply.

Fitz chuckled. "Maybe _you_ should get checked out for a head injury."

"Hey, _my_ interparental sulkiness is just fine, thank you very much-"

"Intraparietal sulcus," Simmons corrected her. "And I didn't say his _wasn't_ fine, I just said it was the only part of his brain that actually showed any abnormality in the scan. But she's right, Fitz," she said, turning to face him. "About the attack. It was a group of extraterrestrials known as the Chitauri, but Stark and Banner and Captain Rogers were a part of a team that fought them off. And yes, Thor was there as well."

Fitz didn't look convinced. "You're lying."

"Trust me, she doesn't know how to do that," Skye promised.

He gave a shrug, but Skye could tell that he was getting upset again. "Well, one, if that's even true, why the bloody hell didn't you open up with that? And two…I'll believe it when I see it."

Simmons was shaking her head at Skye, but Skye had already opened up her laptop and set it in front of Fitz. If Fitz wanted proof, then Skye would give him proof, whether or not Simmons thought it was in his best interest to do so. Didn't Simmons _want_ Fitz to remember? Keeping the truth from him would only make it worse when it finally came out.

The three of them were silent as Fitz watched the footage before him. Even after the clips had ended, and the screen's brightness dimmed from disuse, Fitz continued to stare at the monitor. Skye felt a twinge of regret for shoving in his face what had to have been a huge shock.

Simmons ended up breaking the silence. "Fitz…" she began gently.

Fitz carefully closed the laptop and handed it to Skye, avoiding both of their eyes. "Do you think we could go for another walk again?" he asked after clearing his throat.

Even though the last walk had been super awkward, with her and Simmons each holding onto one arm as they guided Fitz down the Playground's hallways, Skye was willing to suffer through it again if it meant he would start to trust them more. And maybe, just maybe, if they tried hard enough, he'd want to stay with them instead of going back to Scotland.

But Simmons shook her head. "I think you've had enough excitement for one day, what with your exam and seeing the rest of the compound and everything. Perhaps tomorrow we can try again."

Fitz rolled his eyes and sighed. "All right, well can I at least have a shower then?"

Skye didn't want to see him further disappointed, but she wasn't surprised when Simmons refused. "I'm not so sure that's the best idea, Fitz. I mean, you're still not fully recovered, and you'll have to worry about not getting your cast in the water-"

"I can handle it," Fitz smirked. "I've had a broken arm before. I think in the same place actually, which is…weird. All I need is a plastic bag or something, it's just…my God, woman, I need a shower. I smell like salt water and hospital."

Skye snickered, earning a stern glare from Simmons. "It's true," she said defensively. Simmons still looked on the fence, so Skye stood up. "Look, what if we're right outside? You know, just in case anything happens?"

"Skye…"

"Showers are good, Simmons."

"No, I _know_ that, it's just-"

"I think he'll be fine," Skye said, lowering her voice as she stepped closer to Simmons. "And if something happens, then at least we'll know what to do next time. I just…I think it's worth a shot."

Simmons glanced worriedly over at Fitz and seemed to realize that she was outnumbered. "Oh, _fine_ then," she caved in irritation. "I'll be right back."

"I owe you one," Fitz said after Simmons had left the room.

Skye folded her arms and faced him. "I'll call it even when you're clean and safe and _not_ unconscious on the bathroom floor," she told him in all seriousness. "Don't make me regret sticking up for you."

Fitz looked a little scared by the sudden gravity in her tone, but he gave her a nod after a few seconds.

Ten minutes later, they were all uncomfortably huddled around one of the bathroom doors as Simmons carefully covered Fitz's cast with plastic wrap. Skye had grabbed Trip along the way, because even though she fervently hoped that nothing would happen, she knew it would probably be better to have another guy around if something did.

"All right, does that feel secure?" Simmons asked after adding an extra layer to the end.

"Yes, yes, it's fine," Fitz replied, swatting her hand away. "It's not like I'm jumping out of an airplane or anything. It's a _shower_."

Skye could hear her heart hammering loudly in her chest as Simmons stared at Fitz in surprise. "Why did you say that?"

Fitz seemed confused. "Say what?"

"The part about jumping out of an airplane."

"I don't know, it just came out," he shrugged. "Probably because you're all acting like I'm wanting to do something insane."

Simmons turned away, clearing her throat as she picked up the pile near her feet. "Well, there's soap and everything already in there, and here are some clothes I grabbed from your bunk," she said, balancing them in his good arm. "Oh! And this, of course."

Fitz scoffed at the razor she had put in his hand. "What would I need this for?"

Skye felt a chill in the room as she realized once again just how much Fitz was missing.

"Oh, that's right," Simmons grimaced, taking it out of his grip. "You know, on second thought, how about we wait a little while longer for that particular…adventure."

Fitz seemed to understand what she'd been implying and absently reached up to touch his face. "Bloody hell," he whispered. "That's…that's new." He gave a chuckle, sounding nervous. "I suppose it's a good thing I haven't seen a mirror yet. That'd be a wee bit of a shock, wouldn't it?"

"It'll take some getting used to, yes," Simmons replied.

Fitz nodded as he shuffled into the doorway. "Yes, well, I guess I'll just…go then…yeah," he said before shutting the door.

"Call out if you need anything," Simmons spoke into the doorway.

"Yeah, got it."

Simmons turned to face Skye and Trip. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Simmons, relax," Trip said in a soothing voice. "This is good for him. And it's progress."

"I know, it's just…something doesn't feel right. I can't quite explain it." She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

"There's a lot that doesn't feel right, Simmons," Skye assured her. "I think it comes with the territory." She stepped closer to her, straining her ears as she listened for the sound of running water behind the door. "So, listen, I had an idea."

Simmons looked skeptical. "An idea for what?"

"To help with his memory," Skye explained. "I was thinking tomorrow we can take him over the Bus, you know? Maybe show him his bunk, some of the stuff we have on there. It might help him remember, don't you think?"

Simmons shook her head. "That kind of thing doesn't actually work, Skye. There's no scientific evidence that proves visual stimuli helps with the recovery process-"

"Oh, no scientific evidence?" Skye asked, starting to get angry.

"Hey, let's just-" Trip tried to interject.

"No, no, no, let me finish," Skye chuckled humorlessly before turning on Simmons again. "Where's your _scientific evidence_ that tells you what the hell they did to him?" she questioned, pointing to the door. "Huh? Where in any of those journals you looked at did it explain what we're supposed to do?" She breathed out heavily, trying to keep her tears at bay. "None of them said squat, okay? So forgive me if I'm trying to think outside the box."

Simmons seemed surprised by her outburst. "Skye, I didn't-"

"Look, what about the lab?" Skye said, somewhat more calmly. "He practically slept in that lab for all the time he spent in there, so if anything-"

"Yes, but like I said, Skye, it probably won't work-"

"Well, at least _I'm_ trying, Simmons!" Skye shouted, her tears starting to spill over. "What the hell are _you_ doing? Don't you even _care_?"

Just as her words were out, Skye wished she could take them back. Simmons, for her part, looked as if she'd been slapped in the face. Skye was furious with herself. Why on earth had she said that? Of course Simmons cared. She cared more than anyone.

Trip stepped forward, placing one hand on either of their shoulders. "I think everyone's nerves are a little fried right now. So why don't we all just take a deep breath, okay?"

Skye breathed out slowly, suddenly exhausted. She was about to apologize to Simmons, but just at that moment, they all heard a shout coming from the other side of the bathroom door.


	7. Chapter 7

He stopped the door just as it was about to slam shut behind him, turning the handle so it only made a soft click when it closed. He stood there for a few seconds, listening with bated breath for the sound of running footsteps or shouts or any other sign that they'd realized he was missing. He was met only with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and the distant hum of a generator.

It was useless, of course. He was obviously going to get caught. Not only did she have some kind of sixth sense as to whenever he even thought about getting out of bed, but everyone had also been on high alert for the past few hours, hovering around his room and making sure he was okay and just all around making him feel like he was going to explode from embarrassment.

He wasn't even entirely sure what exactly had happened. One minute he'd been getting ready to wash his hair, awkwardly maneuvering the shampoo bottle in his good hand, and the next thing he knew he was shivering on the floor of the shower, holding his hands to his ears to get that bloody awful scream out of his head.

Who'd been screaming? He still didn't know. When he'd asked later, everyone had said the only shout had come from him. But he knew the scream hadn't been his own. It'd been the worst sound he'd ever heard in his life, by far. He couldn't make a sound like that.

Could he?

But there'd been other things, too, in that interim period of vague reality. He'd _seen_ things, things he'd neither recognized nor understood. They'd come mostly in flashes, but the one thing he _had_ recognized was the water.

Not the water from the shower. No, this had been bigger than that. Much bigger. So big that he could've sworn he'd felt the full force of it hit his stomach, surrounding him on all sides, suffocating him. He'd been drowning, he knew that now. Or at least he'd been remembering the sensation of drowning. That's what they'd all said, hadn't they? That he'd almost drowned? The images had felt so real, though, as if he'd been living through it again rather than struggling to remember it.

And all the while that scream had rung in his ears.

When he'd finally come back, the water had been turned off and someone had wrapped a towel around him. She'd been there too, of course, gently pushing his hair back and shining lights in his eyes and checking his heartbeat. It didn't occur to him to be embarrassed until he'd gotten his clothes on and was back under those awful scratchy covers with six people around his bed. She'd shooed them away eventually, telling them that he'd needed rest, but he'd seen the looks in their eyes.

Like he was some lost little boy who couldn't figure out how to take a damn shower without having a bloody panic attack.

It was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing moment of his life.

That he remembered.

She hadn't asked him about it, after the others had left. She'd simply worked at getting the rest of the shampoo out of his hair and told him to try to get some rest. He hadn't wanted to upset her, so he'd agreed, even though he'd known he wasn't going to be able to sleep.

And that's why he was outside, really. It wasn't that he was trying to run away or do anything rash like that. He was penniless, missing parts of his memory, and had a broken arm, not to mention was an apparent fugitive. He wouldn't make it ten miles on his own. Besides, deep down he knew that for all their strange behavior and talk, the people he was with were probably the only ones that would really know how to help him.

No, he'd just needed to get out of the compound for a little while and clear his head in the fresh air, away from the monitors and concerned glances and people he didn't know how to talk to. His whole world had been turned upside down in the last two days. The least he deserved was a little quiet and solitude, to try and make sense of it all. Not that any of it _did_ make sense.

How could it?

His footfalls echoed a little on the bridge as he made his way to its center. The compound itself was mostly underground, but it was situated on a hill in some sort of ravine, so the upper part of it jutted out over a narrow stream. A small footbridge connected one end of the rooftop to the other, and a ladder in the side of the building led down to a small dirt path that wrapped around the entire compound. The whole place was set in an abandoned clearing, which apparently secluded them from the rest of the world, but he wasn't quite so sure he believed that bit. From what he'd heard, they weren't exactly friends with the government, and they had an entire laundry list of people that wanted them dead. He'd seen enough spy movies to know that hiding only ever worked for so long. They'd be discovered eventually.

The whole prospect terrified him, though he would never admit it in a million years. How had he ended up with these people in the first place? By all accounts, it didn't match what would have been considered normal behavior for him. For someone who generally kept to himself and worked alone, it was hard for him to believe that these people would have managed to recruit him, let alone care about his wellbeing or be upset that he couldn't remember them.

Sometimes when he closed his eyes, he wondered what would happen if he woke back up in his flat at MIT. If everything around him had just been some really bizarre dream. It would certainly be easier, going back to that world. In that world he'd been safe, in mostly good health, and had just been about to finally receive his PhD.

But maybe some small part of him was terrified that it _would_ happen. That he would wake up and go back to his old life. His life without friends, without knowing what he was doing with his life. Without a place to belong.

His new older self admittedly didn't have everything figured out. For God's sake, he'd almost drowned, and the organization he'd been a part of had ended up being corrupt. But he did seem to have a little bit more than his younger self did. He had a team, a good team from what he could tell, despite its fractured state. He had a partner, a partner that knew him just a little _too_ well. And he had people that needed him to solve a piece of their puzzles, as Skye had described it.

That was the biggest surprise, really. He had never had anyone that needed _him_. And here was an entire _team_ that needed his expertise.

How helpful his expertise would actually be still remained to be seen, though. Eight years was a long time.

He carefully sat down on the edge of the bridge and let his legs dangle over the side. From his vantage point he could see the entire clearing and the rest of the compound. Plus, when he leaned back on his good arm, the leaves opened up to show most of the night sky in all its glory. The stars shone brightly above his head, their illumination uninhibited by light pollution of a city. He supposed with a view like this, being out in the middle of nowhere might not be so bad.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring up at the constellations. The moon slowly made its way across the sky, but he didn't grow tired. At one point, though, he knew she was there.

He couldn't say _how_ he knew, he didn't think he heard her come out onto the bridge, but her presence was unmistakable. She didn't say anything he thought she would, didn't yell at him for being out of bed or sitting in a dangerous position from which he could easily fall to probable death. In fact, she didn't say anything at all. She just stood there behind him as he continued to look up at the stars.

And he didn't mind, not really. He thought he was going to mind, thought she was going to pressure him into going back inside or something ghastly like talking about his feelings. But the longer she was there, not saying anything, the more he began to understand why she'd been his partner for so long. She seemed to inherently know what he needed, whether he wanted to talk or be alone or just have someone to sit in silence with. And when she did speak, a lot of times it seemed to be a continuation of his own sentences, almost as if they'd been sharing the same thoughts. At first, it had struck him as somewhat strange, and had actually been more than a little overwhelming. But out there in the darkness surrounded by the trees, he began to wonder if maybe, before, he'd known her as well as she seemed to know him.

The thought was mildly terrifying.

Not just because he was pretty sure he'd never known anyone that well, ever. But also because he didn't know how to be _her_ partner anymore.

He couldn't remember.

They stayed there for quite some time, her standing patiently a few feet away while he kicked his legs back and forth and watched the stars. He wanted to let her know that she could sit down too, but from his limited social interactions he wasn't sure how to tell her. So instead he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"I've always known there was life out there," he said quietly, breaking the silence. He heard a small gasp behind him and guessed that she'd thought he hadn't noticed her company. He went on, and in his peripheral vision he saw her hesitantly sit down next him. "There's just too much unexplored, you know what I mean? There's no way we're the only ones out here. I guess I just never expected we'd ever find it in my lifetime."

He hoped she hadn't heard his voice crack, or that if she had, she'd chalk it up to disuse. But she didn't seem to be paying close attention to him, her neck craned back to see his view. "It does make you feel a bit smaller, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," he whispered. There was a comfortable pause before he decided to ask. "Where were we?"

She blinked a few times in surprise, as if her mind had been somewhere else. "Where were we when?" she asked, looking over at him.

"During the invasion."

"Oh," she said, smiling a little. "At SciOps." He nodded, remembering how the man in the suit had said they used to work for the science and operations division of S.H.I.E.L.D. before they joined his team. But he didn't know much more about it than that, so he was glad when she kept talking.

"Yeah, we were in the lab," she sighed as she looked back up into the sky. "Working on something or other, when all of a sudden the alarms started going off. We thought it was just a drill, you know? Didn't think anything of it until we were down in the bunker below the labs and someone pulled up the news coverage." Her voice grew quieter, and even though he could see the reflection of the stars in her eyes, he knew she was seeing what happened that day. "It wasn't like anything we'd ever seen before, Fitz. We didn't know what was going to happen afterwards. Or if there would even _be_ an afterwards."

"Were you…I mean, was I…were _we_…scared?"

"For a while there, yeah," she murmured. "I calmed down a bit after you made me do a few atomistic attribute drills, though. During which, of course, you were calculating how many mercenaries each of the Avengers could take on at one time with their given skill sets." He smirked, even though he still didn't quite understand the full story. That sure sounded like something he would do.

She sighed again, her smile fading. "But I don't think we realized the full extent of it until we saw the damage in the aftermath. And even then we were just _so_ excited about the prospect of finding life on other planets, it didn't even occur to us to be frightened by any of the implications."

He saw her eyes glistening with tears and thought about interrupting her, remembering something Skye had said about an alien virus and how it had nearly destroyed their whole team. But he didn't want to pry. And besides, what was he supposed to say anyways? He'd never been good at that kind of thing. She seemed to be in her own little world, though, so he decided to let her continue.

"I always thought it was a marvelous thing, you know? Being able to look up there and know that we're not alone. To think that somewhere out there could be a life form with its own story, its own way of living. Perhaps there are entire civilizations that have surpassed us in science and technology, like the Asgardians, or that have developed the ability to live in environments that we can't even begin to imagine yet. All that possibility exists in the universe, so how big can our problems be, really? There are stars we're looking at right now even though they've burnt out thousands of years ago. And there are stars that have existed for thousands of years whose light we'll never get to see before it even reaches our planet." She scoffed. "We think we're so invincible and powerful, but every single problem we've ever faced means nothing to that kind of universe."

"Doesn't make the problems go away, though, does it? We're still here."

"Yes, but that's just it. None of our problems should matter, but they _do_. Or at least we think they do." Her voice was still quiet, but for some reason he could tell that she was getting upset. "There are people that can have their insides completely torn apart from gunshot wounds and still walk away from it without so much as a scar. There are those that can still survive after being tortured for days on end with barely any food or water. But the _second_ you take away something as commonplace as oxygen, our brain cells begin to die, and suddenly we don't know how to talk anymore or tie our own shoelaces or form new memories. Of all things, _that's_ the damage that can't be undone. And the universe doesn't care. Only we do."

It was the most he'd ever heard her say at one time. He almost didn't want to speak, not only because he knew he wouldn't sound half as eloquent as she did, but also because he found that he actually enjoyed listening to her talk. He knew he had to try to say _something_, though. Her comment about the oxygen had reminded him of the real reason why she was so upset.

"But that's all relative, isn't it?" he asked softly. "Einstein and all that?"

She looked over at him again, but her eyes were filled with so much pain that he instinctively glanced away. He cleared his throat and pointed to the ground below. "Like down there. We're up maybe fifty feet or so? Yeah, give or take. Anyway, there are entire ecosystems below our feet…and they're all but tiny specks to us. But they have problems, too. And yeah, maybe their problems don't affect us right away, but that doesn't make them any less real. In fact, chances are, if they cease to exist, so do we." He leaned back again to better see the sky. "So really, it'd be the same thing up there, wouldn't it? Our problems may not matter much in the grand scheme of things, but that doesn't mean they don't matter. Or that _we_ don't matter is what I'm getting at, I suppose."

He fell silent once more, surprised and a tad embarrassed that all of that had come out of him. She didn't say anything in response, and he hoped that under the cover of darkness she wasn't able his cheeks going red. Well, that was brilliant. He probably hadn't made any sense at all. Usually he understood things well enough in his head, but getting them out into words was another thing entirely. It was partly the reason why he kept to himself so much. He'd learned early on that not many people could follow what went on in his head.

But when he finally decided to face her, she wasn't looking at him in confusion or disgust. In fact, in the dim light he though she actually looked a little amazed. That couldn't have been it, though. She was probably just surprised. And for good reason. He hadn't really spoken that much to her since he'd woken up, mostly because he didn't really understand the nature of their partnership. She was a scientist like he was, yes, and she looked after his health, but he couldn't help but feel like maybe she didn't like him all that much.

With Skye it was different. Skye was mysterious in the way that most girls were a complete mystery to him, but she didn't keep things from him and he always knew how she was feeling. The girl sitting next to him was nearly the polar opposite, avoiding his eyes whenever he started asking questions and generally avoiding him altogether if she didn't have a specific reason to be checking in on him. He really had no idea what to make of her, none at all.

But there were times, moments actually, when that was not always the case. Those rare moments when he met her gaze were the times when he thought he saw a glimpse of something different. It was as if, in those moments alone, she forgot she was supposed to be protecting him from…whatever she thought she was protecting him from when she hid the truth. Before, he hadn't understood what it was he'd been seeing in her eyes when she looked at him like that. But there, underneath the stars, he realized what he'd been seeing was hope. As if something he'd said or did had given her hope that the Fitz she'd known was coming back.

Figuring it out didn't really make him feel any better. Because he also saw the disappointment on her face when she realized he still didn't remember her.

He cleared his throat again, realizing that the moment needed a little lightening. "Plus," he added, glancing back up at the stars, "my mum always said I'm as big as I'd like to be."

"Did your mum say that?"

"I think so, yeah," he nodded. "Or maybe someone else did. I've heard it somewhere, I know that much."

"I've heard it, too," she responded, looking deep in thought. "Can't remember where, though."

That got a laugh out of him. "Yeah, well join the club."

Her hurt expression made him slightly regret his sarcasm. But she seemed to be more talkative than usual, so he plunged forward with the question that had been plaguing him for the past two days. "Do you think I'll ever remember?"

He didn't look her in the eye, afraid that he'd see the pity in them or have to watch her painfully try to lie to him again. She sounded honest when she spoke, though. "I don't know," she replied, her voice hitching slightly. "I _want_ to believe it's possible, but…I really just don't know."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

He saw her shake her head out of the corner of his eye. "It's not your fault, Fitz."

"Something tells me that's not quite true."

Her concerned gaze bore into the side of his face. "Fitz, what are you talking about?"

"Well, I must've done something pretty damn stupid to get in this state, now didn't I?"

"Oh, you _were_ stupid, Fitz," she chuckled. "But…you saved my life."

He quickly glanced over at her in surprise, nearly giving himself whiplash in the process. "I did?"

She had a sad smile on her face. "Yes," she said simply.

He was momentarily speechless, his mouth open as he stared at her in amazement. After a couple seconds he saw her cheeks turn pink in the moonlight. "What?" she asked.

"What? Oh, sorry. No, it's nothing. It's just…that just doesn't sound like me is all."

Her smile was back, small though it was. "You're braver than you think you are, Fitz."

Funny. The last thing he felt was brave, and he couldn't think of a time in his life when that had been any different. He'd always been picked on back in primary school, he'd never gone out of his way to volunteer for anything remotely dangerous, and he complained for hours after getting a paper cut. And here was this girl telling him that he'd sustained brain damage after nearly drowning…in order to save _her_ life? It sounded like something out of the stories he'd read when he was younger, where the dashing knight in shining armor did whatever it took to save the girl. It hardly sounded like something _he_ would do, though, much as he might entertain the notion. He knew that when it really boiled down to it, he was a coward. Who the hell _was _this girl, to inspire such bravery in him?

"And I don't even know your name," he scoffed.

"What?" she asked, startling him. He hadn't realized he'd spoken that last bit aloud.

"Well, I mean, Simmons is hardly your first name, right?"

She looked hesitant. "It's my surname, yes."

"And we've been partners for a long time, yeah? So theoretically I should've probably learned your first name at some point."

"True…I suppose. Fitz, what are you getting at?"

He sighed in mild annoyance. "What's your name?"

There was a pause, and she actually seemed to be on the verge of telling him, but he saw a shift in her expression. It was the same look she'd had on her face when he'd asked her earlier that day if he'd scared her with his outburst. "Fitz…" she began before glancing down at her hands. "I know this probably won't make any sense to you at all, but…would you mind if I didn't tell you right now? It's just…no one here really calls me by my first name anyways, and with everything that's been going on, it would probably be easier if you just called me Simmons. You know…for now."

He nodded, initially unsure why she was so hesitant to share her first name, but figured it was probably not too far off from his own plight. It must be something really embarrassing, like Mildred or Edith or something. "It's just really formal," he shrugged, hoping she didn't think he was trying to push.

She laughed as she pulled her legs up onto the bridge and began to stand up. "It's really not," she said, holding out a hand to help him up. "Come on, we need to get you back in bed. We've got a full day of memory exercises tomorrow, and we can't have you wandering about at all hours of the night."

One stern look from her made him keep his protests to himself, but he actually was starting to get a little tired. She walked him back to his room, and even though the silence between them didn't feel strained, he could tell that she was withdrawing from him again.

After she had left and he crawled into the bed, he couldn't help but start to dread the next day. Out on the bridge, he'd hoped that maybe he'd been able to convince her that he wasn't as fragile as she seemed to think he was. He thought she'd been able to see that he really could handle the entire truth. But being back under the fluorescent light of the compound must have reminded her of his brokenness, and that no matter how hard they all tried to help him get his memory back, he would probably never be the same again.

It was a depressing thought, but at least he was being realistic.

He shifted uncomfortably under the covers of the bed, something underneath his head making it difficult for him to find a relaxing position. In drowsy confusion, he turned on his good arm and lifted up the pillow, wondering what the bloody hell could possibly be laying beneath it.

His eyes widened in surprise.

For the first time since he had woken up in that strange place, he began to feel something he didn't think was possible anymore. Something like familiarity.

There, below his pillow, directly where is head should have been, was a small, adorable, stuffed monkey.


	8. Chapter 8

"Help! Somebody, please! Help!" Her voice rang shrilly through the dark alleyway, but only one person came rushing out of the building's side entrance. Triplett leaned up against the wall and watched the scene before him unfold, his ICER held up at the ready just in case.

She continued to scream until the man had gotten to her side. "Hey, hey, what's the matter?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"I-I thought there was someone following me," she spluttered, grabbing onto the man's jacket. His eyes quickly scanned their surroundings, but Triplett was well hidden by the shadows. And anyways, the guard's attention seemed to gravitate more towards the beautiful girl clutching onto him, crying what looked like real tears.

Damn. Triplett was impressed. The girl had gotten better.

"You shouldn't be out here this late by yourself," the guard said, placing his hands on her shoulders and giving her a look that made Triplett grip his ICER just a little bit tighter. But he didn't have to worry for long, because before he could even blink, she had already ducked into his arms and kneed him in the groin, twisting him around in a blur of motion so that she could pin him up against the brick wall.

"Neither should you," she hissed with an air of satisfaction, shoving her arm into his windpipe.

The guard struggled under her grip, but she had the sharp heel of her boot keeping his foot in place. "You're one of them, aren't you?" he gasped. "One of them…S.H.I.E.L.D. loyalists."

Triplett saw her push her arm further into his throat. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she said in an overly sweet voice before her smile disappeared. "Shows how twisted you really are. We're the good guys."

The guard grimaced, his laugh coming out in a high-pitched wheeze. "Oh, please," he rolled his eyes, earning him an extra twist in the arm. "The feds hate you just…as much as they hate us. You won't…win. There's too many-"

"Yeah?" she asked, leaning closer to him. "Well, someone's gotta protect the world from evil scumbags like you."

"Hey, I'm just following-"

There was another blur, and the next thing Triplett knew, she had her foot on the guard's neck. "If you say orders, I swear to God I will put my heel through your throat."

Even in the dim alleyway, Triplett could see the fear in the guard's eyes. But he still managed to speak, despite the three-inch spike next to his trachea. "Good guys, huh?"

She sighed in exasperation. "Trip, you gonna knock this guy out, or do I have to?"

Triplett didn't need to be asked twice. Blue tendrils snaked along the guard's arms as he was hit with the dendrotoxin, and Skye removed her heel from his throat, letting him crumple to the ground. She placed her hands on her hips and spun around.

"That was a rhetorical question, Trip. I was gonna get him."

He shook his head as he stepped into the alley. "Not enough time. They'll notice he's missing soon."

Skye glanced back down at the unconscious guard, her breathing beginning to slow down. "Yeah, you're right," she said, leaning down to check his pockets. "So how'd I do?" she smiled up at him after finding what she was looking for.

Triplett folded his arms. "Good form, admirable execution. But girl, you talk _way_ too much."

Her smile fell a little, but he could tell she was pleased by the compliments. "I know, I know, bad habit. I'll work on it," she said as she stood up. "Where's May?"

"Clearing the roof," he replied. He pointed to the key card in her hand. "That'll get you in?"

"Yeah," she nodded, walking up to the warehouse's side entrance and pulling a thumb drive out of her shirt. "And this'll lock us into their system. We just have to find their control room, which based on the schematics should be on the east side."

"How much time do you need in there?"

"Thirty seconds? A minute if their system's really crappy."

"Okay," Triplett said as he handed her his spare ICER. "You ready?"

There was a glint in her eye that probably should have worried him, but instead of responding she simply marched up to the door and slid the stolen ID card into the key slot. Triplett pointed his ICER at the entryway and exchanged a nod with her before she hesitantly opened the door.

All at once the sound of an alarm rang throughout the building. Skye whipped around, double-checking the empty alley, but Triplett inched forward into the warehouse, looking for signs of HYDRA agents rushing to the back entrance.

The comm in his ear crackled as a voice came through. "Skye? Trip? What's your status?"

"Alarm's been set off. The guard we took out must have signaled the others we were coming." He turned his head. "Skye, could you-"

But she was already inputting something into the security panel near the side of the doorway, and before he could finish his sentence the loud noise stopped abruptly. They stood there in silence for a few seconds, Triplett trying to hear past the ringing in his ears. The place was eerily quiet.

"May?" Skye murmured. "Is it clear?"

When May responded, she sounded winded, as if she were taking out two guys simultaneously while she was talking to them, which was an entirely plausible scenario. "No. Their numbers have doubled since we've been…tracking them. I don't know…where they came from, but we need to…fall back. I repeat, fall back. I'll meet you…at the van."

Skye glanced over at Triplett with wide eyes. "Can we scramble their comms?"

He shook his head. "Not without an EMP."

"Damn," she whispered. "Fitz could probably figure out another way."

Triplett glanced over his shoulder. "Well, Fitz isn't here, so we're gonna have to improvise. And sometimes improvising means knowing when it's not your fight." He gave her a nod, gesturing towards the door. She looked like she was about to argue with him, but quickly shut her mouth when the sound of pounding footsteps came from the stairwell at the end of the hallway.

He knew before he even shut the door in her face that she was going to be pissed. But he saw the empty alleyway behind her and knew she'd be able to get back to the van on her own if she ran fast enough and if he drew the fire away from her. It wasn't what they'd talked about, when they'd organized the op. But they'd been tracking these guys for nearly two months. He wasn't going to just leave when they were so close. So what if they couldn't take over their systems now? Triplett always had a Plan B.

He pocketed his disabled comm and slowly made his way down the hallway, keeping towards the wall. He didn't have to wait long before the first batch of HYDRA agents stormed into the stairwell. Triplett quickly knocked them out with his ICER and took off down a side corridor. Skye had said the control room was on the east side. If he could just get in there and destroy their systems, then maybe the entire operation wouldn't go to waste. HYDRA would still be out there, but at least S.H.I.E.L.D. would have one less enemy facility to worry about.

He knew he was getting closer by the sound of increasing activity and the fact that more hallways were crossing his path. He only felt a small twinge of regret for not falling back, knowing that the odds were stacked against him. But it wasn't enough for him to give up. It never had been.

He slowed down as the footsteps grew louder, gathering himself for the ambush. Before he could think too much, he rounded the corner and iced the three guards standing outside what had to have been the control room. The rest of the guards were shouting now, alerted to his presence. But Triplett had always been fast, and he knocked out the remaining agents behind the computers before they had a chance to signal for backup. He knew backup was coming, though. It was HYDRA.

Just as he was about to start smashing equipment, he heard a tiny rustle of fabric behind him. He quickly brought his elbow back, making contact with the nose of the guard ready to grab him, and wrapped him in a sleeper hold until he'd lost consciousness. His small victory was short-lived, though, because a loud clang echoed in the hallway as the door to the control room slammed shut. He reached out to try the handle, already knowing it would be locked, but two more guards came into the space before he could attempt to break in.

Triplett quickly raised his ICER and fired, only realizing a second too late that his cartridge was empty. He had more in his bag, but he didn't have time to retrieve them before the guards lifted their weapons. Their lethal, lead-bullet-firing weapons. He prepared to duck, looking for an escape route, when the two men suddenly froze in their tracks and fell to the floor.

He set his jaw before he spun around. "You shouldn't be here," he began, but Skye had already stowed her ICER and placed a small spherical object onto the door of the control room. She calmly folded her arms and turned away from the door, not even bothering to give him a glance while she waited for the small explosion behind her. Above their heads, the sound of more footsteps raced towards their location.

"Look, we have to get out now. There are too many of them-"

"How long can you hold them off?" she asked in a cold voice, immediately sitting behind one of the computers and inserting her thumb drive. She met his eyes over the monitor, and though he knew she was mad, she seemed to be trying to put aside her anger in order to complete the mission. He swallowed back his arguments, despite the new fear for her safety taking over his priorities.

"You've got thirty seconds," he said before reaching into his bag and throwing the cylinder as far down the hallway as he could. He covered his ears and turned away from the impact, hoping that the blinding flash of light would incapacitate the onslaught and give him enough time to load another cartridge into his ICER.

He counted the seconds in his head.

Three. He snapped the magazine in place and waited.

Seven. The first guard recovered from the blast and stumbled closer to him, only to get an ICER bullet to the chest.

Ten. Two more guards received the same treatment as their comrade, but Triplett knew that if things continued like this for too much longer, he'd need another cartridge soon. He could hear Skye typing away in the room behind him and silently begged her to work faster.

Fourteen. Most of the guards had gotten to their feet already, so instead of wasting all of his bullets, Triplett decided to try a surprise tactic. He charged at the small group assembled in the end of the hallway, knocking out two before the rest had noticed him coming.

Seventeen. He focused on the disoriented ones, kicking their weapons out of their grasp and trying to push them away from the control room.

Twenty-one. He froze, suddenly aware the cool barrel of a gun on his neck.

Twenty-three. As soon as his captor tried to grab his arm, Triplett ducked away from the line of fire and wrangled the gun out of his grasp, turning it on the remainder of the guards.

Twenty-seven. More guards flooded into the stairwell, and he knocked out as many as he could with his ICER before he ran out of bullets again.

Twenty-nine. "Skye…" he said as he backed further down the hallway.

"Done," she spoke from behind him, icing the two closest guards.

"Go," he hissed, but she had already taken off towards the back entrance. He followed at her heels, pushing her down side hallways, trying to confuse their pursuers. It would take longer for them to reach the alley that way, but at least the fire would be less likely to find their targets if they kept moving.

One corridor away from the exit, Skye skidded to a halt, nearly causing Triplett to run right into her. A lone HYDRA agent stood in front of their escape, almost as if he had been waiting for them. But the guard didn't even get a chance to fire his weapon before Skye attacked him, maneuvering in such a way that he was unconscious in seconds. Her smug grin disappeared quickly, though, when another handful of guards entered the hallway. Triplett shared a glance with her for only a second, and the door slammed open as they bolted into the alley.

"May? Where are you?" Skye huffed as they sprinted towards the street. A group of HYDRA agents was behind them, and Triplett noted with a sinking heart that the distance between them was closing quickly. He slowed, swinging his bag around to find another flash grenade. A loud screech echoed through the alley, and when he turned around he saw the door of a nondescript white van slide open.

"Get in," May ordered from behind the wheel. Skye jumped into the already-moving vehicle, and as Triplett grabbed onto the handle, he threw the grenade towards their pursuers. Just before he swung himself into the backseat, he felt a searing burn on the side of his arm. He almost fell into the street, but managed to find one last burst of strength to pull himself up and slam the door behind him, the sound of bullets still peppering the metal.

"Can you lose 'em?" Skye asked, crouching down behind the driver's seat.

"They won't follow," May replied, making an unexpected sharp turn and nearly sending Skye tumbling over onto Triplett. "The first thing they'll do is get rid of the evidence."

"Good," Skye breathed out with relief before turning on him. "What…the _hell_…was that?"

Triplett made sure to keep his expression as innocent as possible. "What are you talking about?"

She shook her head, her face scrunched up in fury. "What am I _talking _about? Are you _serious_? You barged in there with _no_ backup, against God knows how many HYDRA agents, after you tried to _lock me out_. What the _hell_ were you thinking? You could've been-" She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes widening as they fell on his shoulder. "Trip, oh my God. You're bleeding. Wait, did you get _shot_?"

He looked down at his arm, suddenly remembering the burning sting he'd felt as he'd slid into the car. The side of his jacket was stained red. "It's just a graze, Skye. Chill out."

She was ignoring him, though, rummaging through a bag until she found an old t-shirt and proceeded to wrap his arm carefully. He tried not to wince. "How fast can you get us to the airfield?"

"Should be there in ten," May responded, briefly looking over her shoulder. Triplett met her gaze and gave her a subtle nod, letting her know that he was fine. She nodded in return, but there was something in her eyes that confused him, a kind of concern that he wasn't entirely sure was related to his bleeding wound.

Skye finished tying the shirt around his arm. "Okay, just keep pressure on it until we get to the plane. Simmons taught me how to treat stuff like this."

Triplett tried to back away from her, but the door of the van blocked his path. "For the love of everything that is still good in this world, there is a reason why Simmons is a doctor and you're not."

She glared at him. "It'll get infected, Trip. It's at least two hours back to the Playground. So you can either let me help you…or you can let May help you. While _I _fly the plane."

A little over two hours and a stupid amount of hydrogen peroxide later, Coulson met them at the Playground's hangar doors.

"How'd it go?" he asked, even though by the look on his face he seemed to already know.

"Awesome," Skye replied sarcastically. "We nearly had our asses handed to us, _and_ HYDRA's grown about a hundred new heads."

Coulson grimaced. "That bad, huh?"

"I still don't understand," Triplett shook his head. "The place was quiet all week, no abnormal activity. It's like they just came out of nowhere."

"Or they knew we were coming," Skye commented.

Coulson's gaze fell on Triplett's right shoulder. The bleeding had stopped, but Skye's haphazard bandaging made the wound look worse than it was. "You okay?" he asked, the lines in his forehead the only indication of his worry.

"Just disappointed about the op, sir."

Coulson nodded, but Triplett noticed him exchange a glance with Skye. Even though he didn't quite understand what was going on, he decided to deflect the attention away from him and towards more pressing matters. "But it might not be as bad as we think." He turned to Skye. "You got us in, didn't you?"

"I didn't have time for the Trojan Horse Protocol, so I won't be able to map out every system of theirs. _But_ I did give them a virus that works like a sort of parasite…it'll attach itself to the next system they upload to and hopefully help us figure out where their HQ is. Or if they even have an HQ."

"If they were able to send backup, that means they have some kind of organization. It also means they're growing, or at least securing their numbers. And since it's HYDRA, that means I'm not happy."

"None of us are, sir," Triplett said quietly before deciding to try to broach the subject. "If I may make a suggestion?"

Coulson eyed him curiously. "I'm all ears."

Skye jumped into his hesitancy. "We need more manpower."

Coulson's expression remained neutral, but Triplett saw the smallest twitch in his jaw. "Skye…" he began.

"Look, I know, A.C.," she continued, holding up a hand. "Okay? HYDRA's everywhere, trust no one, keep one eye open because your best friend might stab you in the back. We _all_ know." She let her hand fall to her side. "But we can't do this by ourselves. You said yourself it looks like they're growing. What if one day they show up on the bridge outside? They'd pick us off one by one. We _need more people_."

Coulson still looked hesitant, but Triplett could tell he saw the truth of Skye's words. She kept going, probably hoping that he would start agreeing with her. "Look, there _has_ to be at least a handful of people you can trust. I mean, I know we already have links to the Cube and the Sandbox, but what about all those agents that defected to the private sector? I'm sure if they knew you were trying to rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. for the right reasons, you'd be able to convince some of them to join the fight."

There was a small pause, and even though Coulson didn't look enthusiastic, he conceded. "I'll think about it."

"But-"

"I said I'll think about it, Skye. There's a lot on my plate right now."

Triplett quickly changed the subject. "How are things on the home front?"

Skye seemed a little crestfallen, but it was easy to switch her interest. "Yeah, any word from our mysterious friends in the Caribbean?"

Coulson shook his head. "It's still the same signal, same time every day, but it only lasts for about a minute. We've been trying to establish contact, but they're not answering."

"Or they can't answer," Skye said.

"Exactly. But we have no idea who it is."

"Could be a trap," Triplett reasoned.

"That's what I'm afraid of. Hopefully we'll know more soon, now that we have you back on comms," he told Skye.

"And the Index," she added wryly. "Speaking of having a lot on your plate, how's…"

"He's…doing okay," Coulson replied gently.

Skye gave a weak laugh. "So no memory miracles then, huh?"

"A few false alarms here and there. He's remembering bits and pieces, but ultimately…no."

She nodded, looking away from them in an attempt to hide her tears. "How long?"

Coulson's voice was still soft. "Simmons is taking his cast off now. He'll stay for another week, make sure his arm's okay while we get all his legal stuff together. And then…we'll send him home."

"I just thought he was starting to like it here, you know?" At their skeptical expressions, she rolled her eyes. "Not _here_ here, but here with us. He seemed to be getting better, asking questions about what we're doing and working on some of his old inventions. I mean, do you remember how he flipped out at seeing the lab? This is where he belongs."

"I'm not disagreeing with you, Skye, but there's nothing I can do. I'm not gonna make him stay if he doesn't want to be here."

"Yeah, I get it," she sighed. "I guess I just didn't expect this thing to last so long. How's Simmons?"

Coulson snorted. "Like she'd tell me. She's been avoiding me like the plague."

Triplett looked over at Skye, and even though they didn't say anything, they both knew the reason. Coulson had ordered Simmons to help Fitz recover, and if he still didn't remember anything, then in her mind, she'd failed. And of course that wasn't even taking into consideration the part where she was all but a stranger to her best friend.

They began to head down the hallway, but Coulson's voice called out from behind. "Agent Skye, aren't you forgetting something?"

"You know, A.C.," Skye replied as she turned around. "You're the Director now. Can't you just, like, abolish paperwork?"

"Paperwork keeps everyone accountable, Skye," Coulson said, a slight smirk on his lips. "And it makes sure we have an accurate record of everything we've been doing here."

She stared him down for a few seconds before he backed off. "I'll give you the night off, but I want both of your reports sometime tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," Triplett said, giving Skye a pointed look.

"Hey, I'll take it," she laughed, starting to make her way towards Fitz's room. Coulson simply shook his head in mild exasperation, and Triplett gave him one last nod before following Skye.

When they strode into the room, Fitz was opening and closing his fist.

"How does that feel?" Simmons murmured, lightly moving his arm back and forth. Neither of the two scientists had noticed their visitors enter the room.

"Much better, yeah," Fitz replied, giving her a small smile. "Thank you."

Simmons smiled back, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Oh," she said after a beat, turning to grab something off the table behind her. "I almost forgot. I thought you might like this. You know, now that you can actually solve them." She deposited the Rubik's Cube in his palm, and even though Triplett knew Fitz owned about twenty different Cubes, he also knew that this one was special. It was the first Cube he'd ever solved, and also happened to be his birthday present from Simmons the year they'd met. Fitz had tossed out that last bit of trivia back when the team had been at Providence. Triplett didn't even think Fitz had noticed at the time. It was a habit of his to mention Simmons whenever the situation presented itself.

Or at least...it used to be a habit of his.

Now he just stared in polite confusion at the Cube in his hand. "Yeah, I've seen these around before. Can't say I've ever tried to solve one, though." He started to move a couple of the rows. "Do you just…try to match-"

"The colors there, yeah-"

"Well, that'd put the number of combinations well into the-"

"Quintillions, actually, so-"

"Basically infinite. And then I suppose you'd naturally want to solve it-"

"As fast as possible, yeah. You actually solved it in thirty seconds on the first go," she laughed before catching herself. "But of course that's not important. What's important is that it's a way for you to exercise your phalanges."

Skye finally cleared her throat, which was a good thing since Triplett was feeling slightly out of place watching them unnoticed. "Nobody wants lazy phalanges."

FitzSimmons collectively jumped and turned to face their company. "Skye," Fitz said in surprise, the Cube falling out of his hand onto the bed. "You're back. How'd it go?"

Skye groaned. "I'd rather not talk about it."

"No, no, I want to hear. Did you run into HYDRA? Did you use your ninja skills?"

She laughed. "There was an attempt."

"Oh, she used them, all right," Triplett spoke up. "There are quite a few enemy agents out there that are gonna be out of commission for a while."

Fitz's attention fell on Triplett's arm. "Bloody hell, mate, what happened to you?"

Simmons's eyes widened and she was at his side in a second.

"I'm fine," he assured her. "The bullet just grazed me. Really, it's not a big deal."

"Yeah, Simmons," Skye said. "And I totally bandaged him up just like you showed me."

Simmons had a tight smile on her face as she carefully peeled back the bandage. "Wonderful, Skye. You did…great. Really. It…hardly looks infected at all."

Skye rolled her eyes. "Okay, I know I'm not Dr. Two PhDs Simmons, but he's not bleeding anymore, if you hadn't noticed."

Simmons was still closely inspecting the wound. "I did…I did notice that."

Fitz was hovering off to the side, concern on his face even though he avoided looking directly at Triplett's arm. "He's all right, though, isn't he? You're not gonna have to…you know…cut it off or anything, are you?"

She smiled. "No, Fitz, he'll be fine. I'm just going to have to…get some disinfectant…and new bandages…and probably clean the wound out again…"

"Whatever," Skye muttered. "I'm gonna go take a shower. And then sleep for probably two days."

"I'll go with you," Fitz said before a look of horror passed over his face. "Not to the shower, of course, that's not what I meant. I just…what I meant was-"

"Spit it out, Fitz," Skye interrupted, but she was smirking.

He shook his head, probably wishing he hadn't said anything. "I was just working on…stuff in the lab…it's not a…just forget about it."

Skye sighed and waved him over. "Come on, let's see what that brilliant mind has been doing since I've been gone."

Fitz was looking deeply embarrassed now, but he quickly crossed the room. He was about to follow Skye out the door when he seemed to remember something. "You don't need me for anything else, do you?" he asked Simmons.

She only hesitated for a moment. "No," she said quietly.

"Cool," he smiled, heading out the door. His voice still carried into the room as he and Skye walked towards the hangar. "I've been trying to rebuild some of those S.H.I.E.L.D. gadgets you showed me from the archives. I should be able to work much faster now that I can use both of my hands."

"Your bare hands?" Skye asked in a poor attempt at a Scottish accent.

"What?"

"Oh, it's…never mind."

Triplett's amusement faded as he felt the sharp sting of antiseptic on his arm.

"Sorry," Simmons apologized. "Why don't you sit down?"

He could tell she was distracted, so he didn't argue with her. He walked over to the chair next to Fitz's bed and sat down gingerly, his muscles beginning to feel the effects of the previous night's activities. Simmons bustled around the room, grabbing clean bandages and making her way over to him. He saw her glance down at the Rubik's Cube Fitz had left tossed aside on the bed. She carefully picked it up and set it aside before returning to Triplett's wound.

"You doing okay?" he asked.

Her brow furrowed in confusion until she realized what he was talking about. "He just didn't remember it, that's all. Nothing unusual these days."

"You'd think he'd at least try to solve it, though. Especially since that one was his favorite."

"Was it?" she asked in a high voice, avoiding his eyes. "I hadn't noticed."

"You don't have to lie to me, Simmons."

She finished securing the bandage. "You'll need to change that twice a day," she said softly before gathering the supplies and leaving the room. He thought about saying something, but he knew from experience that nothing he could say would be comforting. No matter how sincere his words were, they would fall flat against her loneliness.

And as he knew well enough, losing a partner was one of the loneliest things a person could go through.

* * *

Maria picked up the phone on the third ring, knowing who it was despite the unknown number displayed upon the screen. "Well if it isn't the Director of a disintegrated organization."

"You're not gonna congratulate me?"

She was glad he couldn't see the smirk on her face. "That was me congratulating you. What, do you want a cookie?"

"Yeah, I do, actually."

She chuckled. "What's going on, Coulson?"

There was a pause. "You still with Stark?"

She could almost see his infuriating grin, probably knowing fully well how caged she'd been feeling for the past couple of months. "Yes," she replied stiffly.

"Good. I was hoping you might be able to do me a favor."

Out of habit, she checked over her shoulder, even though the room was completely empty. "Things are still uncertain on this end, Phil," she murmured into the receiver. "People are still freaked out about HYDRA, and they have every right to be. I'm not saying you're not doing the right thing, but if something happens…I might not be able to help you."

"Remember how I died that one time?"

"Oh, boy," she sighed, weakly rolling her eyes. He would probably never let that go. "What do you need?"

* * *

He'd drowned out the voices early in the beginning, but the noise still burrowed into his brain, a constant influx of sound that made it nearly impossible to sleep.

Not that he would have slept anyway. His thoughts and memories alone would have been enough to keep him awake.

But that would have been too easy.

The silent periods were the worst, when there was absolutely nothing for him to do but stare at the blank walls around him. Because when he closed his eyes, the first thing he would see burnt into the red of his eyelid was the hatred on her face.

And he saw the hatred on all of their faces, every single one of them. But it always came back to her.

He'd been one of the world's greatest espionage agents, and yet she'd managed to destroy him.

Maybe the scariest part was knowing she could do it again.

He didn't even attempt to keep track of the days, only knowing it would drive him to further into insanity. Every so often someone would slide food into his door's slot, but that was the only source of human contact he was granted. He knew it couldn't go on forever, though. Eventually he'd be court-martialed, and with the long line of people wanting to help him, he was most likely looking at the death penalty.

But that's what he deserved.

Wasn't it?

It was in one of the silent periods that his door unexpectedly clanged open to reveal two uniformed guards. One of them threw some clothes at him.

"Get dressed. You're meeting with Colonel Talbot in twenty minutes sharp."

The door slammed shut before he had the chance to respond. He was still a little dazed by the sudden activity after being left alone for so long, but as he stared down at the clothes in his arms, something clicked in his head.

And he suddenly understood. He wasn't going to receive the death penalty.

That would be too easy.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N**: Because this is the chapter that includes the most references to From the Flames of the Past/Out of the Ashes, I've decided to publish two chapters together in the hopes that those who have not read my previous work won't be too confused. I tried to explain as much as possible within the chapters, but I might not have done a very good job, so please let me know if there's anything I should add or explain better. As always, thank you so much for reading! :)

* * *

The young private kept his grip tight on Ward's arm, despite the fact that his hands were chained behind his back and there was really nowhere for him to go. They made their way down windowless corridors, twisting and turning in a path that Ward knew was designed specifically so that he wouldn't be able to get a glimpse outside.

Not that Ward cared. He knew going in that he would probably never see the light of day again. After all, the sun was a privilege not meant for the wicked.

After about ten minutes, the guard paused at an unadorned entryway and hesitantly rapped on the door.

"Come in," said a curt voice from the opposite side.

Without releasing his grip on Ward, the guard pressed down on the handle and ushered him into the small office. A tall uniformed man stood with his back to them as he flipped through some papers on the desk. When he turned around, he took a bite out of the apple in his hand and gave them a smile, although Ward thought his smile resembled more of a grimace than anything else.

"Thank you, Tilden," he said, nodding to the guard. "Give us the room please. I'll take it from here. Oh, but, uh, take the cuffs off him before you leave, would you?"

"Yes, of course, Colonel." The soldier fumbled with the key as he removed the shackles from Ward's hands, but Ward held the colonel's gaze, not sharing in the amusement he saw in his superior's eyes. He absentmindedly massaged his wrists, more out of a need to do something with his hands than from discomfort.

"Have a seat, son," Talbot said after the door had closed quietly behind him.

Ward remained standing, the spectacle before him all too familiar, mirroring an eerily similar encounter he'd experienced what felt like a lifetime ago. Something told him that this time the stakes were a lot higher. But he made the quick decision to exercise as much of his own agency as he had left.

Talbot didn't seem to pay him much attention though, sitting down in the chair behind his desk and leaning back as he kept eating his apple. "How's prison life treating you?" he smiled, the disturbing amusement still glinting in his eyes. "Is it everything you ever hoped it would be?" He leaned forward, resting an elbow on the desk as he glanced down at some papers. "You know, for an insanely annoying guy, I thought your man Coulson got pretty creative with those things he sent over with you. All that footage and whatnot. Too bad he didn't know none of that crap would work on you."

Ward didn't respond, even though he knew that Coulson was most likely fully aware of the effect he was having. The films didn't really bother him, probably because of his limited experience with pop culture. Coulson had obviously chosen them carefully, films laden with themes of backstabbing and betrayal, an almost limitless supply that constantly played on the screen in his cell. Ward had watched the first few out of sheer boredom, but after a while he'd simply tuned it out. None of that stuff was real anyway, fictional characters betraying other fictional characters in a plot device used only to entice audiences and make money. Ward was almost certain that Coulson had sent them over just to annoy him, knowing they wouldn't really get under his skin.

But that also meant that he knew what _would_ get under his skin. And as much as Ward hated it, it was the footage that played on the screen in between the films that bothered him. Blood and guts and pain he could handle. Seeing himself on the Bus with the team was something else entirely.

There was no sound in the old Bus security footage, probably because Coulson wouldn't have wanted the government to have complete access to the inner workings of S.H.I.E.L.D. But Ward didn't need audio. He heard every word in every shot, because every word was already playing like a broken record in his head. Shots of him and Skye training in the cargo hold. Shots of him playing poker with Fitz. Shots of him in Coulson's office, discussing strategy on an op. Shots of him showing Simmons how to properly shoot an ICER. Shots of him and May boxing in the early hours of the morning while everyone else was still sleeping. Shots of him running to jump out of the Bus after Simmons. Shots of him shielding Skye when the Peruvian soldiers had opened fire. Shots of Skye laughing at something he'd said. Shots of Skye covering his eyes as she unveiled a cake she and Simmons had made for his birthday. Shots of Fitz showing him his latest invention. Shots of Simmons attending to his wounds in the lab. Shots of Skye passed out on the couch, of him covering her with a blanket and watching her sleep for a little longer than he should have.

On a loop. Over and over again.

He tried once to punch the screen, hoping that by some amount of force he could get it to at least turn off, but he'd only ended up bruising his fist in the process. The footage had simply kept playing. After about a week he didn't even need the screen anymore. The images were bored into his skull.

No. Coulson had known _exactly_ what he was doing.

"What, you gonna give me the cold shoulder?" Talbot asked, stirring Ward out of his thoughts. "Not gonna talk?"

He set his jaw. "Not until I get a lawyer," he said, inwardly cringing at how hoarse his voice sounded. He was pretty sure his larynx had mostly healed, but that didn't change the fact that he hadn't spoken a word in weeks.

The colonel laughed, a sound Ward could have lived just fine without ever hearing. "Come on, son. I think you and I both know that's not how it's gonna work." The amusement in his eyes disappeared. "Have a seat," he ordered, nodding to the chair across from him.

Ward stood his ground for a few more seconds, but figured it would probably be in his best interest to sit down. He carefully made his way over to the seat as Talbot leaned back again.

"I gotta admit, after the stunt you pulled with that scientist a few months ago, I was tempted to just let the system have you. You have any idea the trouble I went to with that one?"

Ward wasn't in the mood for small talk. "What do you want?" he asked, glad to hear his voice had cleared up somewhat.

Talbot remained in his relaxed position, but Ward noticed a twitch near his jaw. "It's not a question of what _I_ want," he replied. "What do _you_ want? Because if you want, I can ship your ass right back where I found you. And let me tell you, they are _not_ gonna be as nice to you as I am."

Ward fought the urge to roll his eyes. "What do you need me to do?" he clarified.

The edges of Talbot's lips curled upwards. "Now you're talking. It's simple. I need you to do what you do best."

"Which is…"

"Whatever I tell you to do."

Ward scoffed. "You want me to be your lapdog."

Talbot shook his head. "Not lapdog. Employee."

"Doing what?"

The colonel stood up slowly, walking over to a filing cabinet and pulling out a manila folder. "Your assignment will vary from job to job." He sat back down and opened the cover. Ward noticed his name in big bold letters on the top of the page. "I wouldn't get too worried, it's nothing you're not used to. Undercover work. Gathering intel. Dispensing of…troublesome adversaries when the need arises. We just had to evacuate our recruitment facility in Vancouver, so we're having some minor setbacks with organization. But we moved everything over here to get back on our feet. What I need right now is a small task force to take care of some things. By small I basically mean just you. You'll report to me. I'll give you your tasks, but for the most part you'll be free to live on your own. Off the grid, of course."

Ward was trying to digest everything Talbot was throwing at him. "And the charges?"

Talbot pointed to the file in front of him. "You see this right here? This is the last of Grant Ward. Your little hacker ex-girlfriend already did all the hard work for me, erased you from every database out there. A few clicks and a little flame is all I need to finish the job."

"And then?"

"You'll be invisible. You'll have no name, no family, no citizenship-"

"No allegiance," Ward added quietly.

Talbot chuckled. "Your allegiance will be to me."

Ward was silent for a few moments. "Why should I listen to you?"

The colonel's grimace faded as he leaned closer to Ward. "Buddy, right now I'm the only friend you've got left. You wanna refuse? Go ahead. I have no problem letting the courts have you. If you're lucky, you're looking at 25 to life. But that's your best-case scenario, so I'd think long and hard about your lack of options before you dismiss your last chance at having a normal life."

Ward vaguely wondered how living alone as a ghost spy could possibly be considered a normal life. But his actual response ended up surprising him. "Why me?"

Talbot was only a little caught off-guard. He sighed once he understood the question. "Look, you've obviously made mistakes. In your line of work, that's to be expected. But I'm offering you a chance to make up for those mistakes. Kid, you've got abilities I'm not even sure you're aware of. Your muscle memory? It's off the charts. Even your professors at the Academy thought it was unusual. I mean, you joined S.H.I.E.L.D., what? Ten years ago? And within four years had picked up five languages? Not to mention your proficiency with firearms. Garrett trained you well, don't get me wrong, but the kind of talent you have? That's something that can't be taught."

Ward's confusion must have shown on his face, because Talbot smiled that awful grimace again. "Let me ask you a question. Where are we?"

Ward raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Humor me."

There was a long pause before he sighed. "On a base."

"Oh, you can do better than that. Come on, where are we?"

"On a military base."

"You wanna be a smart-ass? That's fine. But I don't think for a second that you don't know exactly where you are, bag over your head or not."

Ward wasn't quite sure what compelled him to give in. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had a conversation with anyone in months. Maybe it was a deep-seated need to prove that he was actually still useful.

"On an Air Reserve base," he said finally.

"Good. Why?"

"For the discretion. As a colonel, you could've chosen any Air Force base. But you'd need one with just enough cover for you to run your little operation unnoticed. Right away, that'd get rid of any combat or mobility command center. Too risky, too many things that could go wrong. Material command could work, but you can already acquire any weapons you need. Reserve command center is your best bet. Out of the limelight, enough units to keep it busy without ever drawing attention to yourself, but low chance of any real deployment. So you're looking for a Reserve base. You'd preferably want a refueling wing, enough to keep your men running and close enough so you can do all the paperwork yourself. That narrows it down to six possible bases. But you're not gonna want anything on the east coast, because that'd put you too close to the capitol. After the Battle at the Triskelion, you wouldn't want to be found anywhere near there. So that takes the options down to three. But only one of those bases has a correctional facility with at least level-three security."

The glint was back in Talbot's eyes. "So…"

"Grissom."

"In…"

"Bunker Hill, Indiana."

Most of his analysis had been purely theoretical, but Ward could tell by Talbot's expression that he had been dead on. Which was most likely to his advantage, because about halfway through his speech he realized that, once again, he was fighting for his survival. If Talbot didn't consider him good enough for the job he had in mind, Ward would get thrown to the wolves.

But really, was one wolf any better than another?

"Tell you what," the colonel said, closing the file in front of him. "I'll give you 24 hours to think about the offer. But it sure would be a shame to let that kind of talent go to waste, don't you think?"

* * *

May sighed as she heard the distinct rustle of fabric. "Sit back down," she said firmly, although she tried to put as much gentleness into the order as possible.

Skye's brow was furrowed in confusion when May opened her eyes. "Why? That was an hour, wasn't it?" They had definitely made progress over the past couple of months, and at least Skye didn't look terrified around her anymore, but May still knew there was a lot she had to learn.

"Yes," she replied, "but I'm adding another thirty minutes."

Skye didn't look any less confused. "Oh," she nodded faintly, settling back into her cross-legged position. "Okay then…I guess. I thought we were working on kicks today."

"That was before Coulson showed me Trip's report from the op last week."

Skye smiled bitterly. "He had stuff to say about me, huh?" she scoffed. "Well, did he happen to mention how _he_ thought he could take on-"

"This isn't about him," May interrupted. "It's about you. And you almost got yourself killed."

May wasn't trying to make her upset, but it was obvious that Skye felt that she was being attacked. "I was completing the mission, like-"

"Your mission," May reminded her, "was to provide a distraction long enough to get the guard out of the building. _Not_ to have a conversation with him."

Skye raised her eyebrows. "Look, I know how much you just _love_ talking to people, but-"

May closed her eyes briefly. Why the hell couldn't this girl understand? "You talk when you need information," she said tightly. "All you needed was his key. And those seconds you spent unleashing your pent-up anger? Those were the seconds we could've used to complete the mission without seeing fire."

Skye looked momentarily defeated. "So more meditation is…what? My punishment?"

May sighed again, feeling a lot older than she'd felt in a long time. "You asked me once before if I thought Coulson could rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D."

Skye didn't seem too surprised at the change of subject, but May saw her hesitate before asking. "And?"

"I know he can," May said, which was mostly true. "But only if he has _everyone_ on the same page."

There was a flash of realization in Skye's eyes, and as May saw her body relax she knew she understood, at least in part. Coulson _could_ rebuild S.H.I.E.L.D. But his chances at doing it successfully were falling every day. HYDRA was obviously on the rise, despite all of their efforts and the efforts of the world's best intelligence organizations. The government still didn't regard S.H.I.E.L.D. as a legitimate agency, forcing them to work out of the light. Fitz was in danger of leaving at any moment, and even though she protested otherwise, everyone knew Simmons wouldn't be far behind him. They were running out of resources, and they were running out of energy, Coulson more so than any of them. If he lost Skye on top of all that?

Forget rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. Losing Skye would destroy Coulson himself.

"The meditation is to _help you_, Skye," May continued, trying not to think about how losing her would destroy all of them. "You need to take all that frustration and anger and put it somewhere they can't get to. Besides, you barely made it through that last hour. You're distracted."

"Of course I'm distracted," she replied, sounding weary. "Fitz still doesn't remember anything, and we're almost out of time."

"Did he talk to his mom again?"

"Yeah," she laughed, though May could see her eyes glistening. "She keeps telling him to 'listen to his heart,' which is probably the least helpful advice anyone could give that guy." Her smile faded as she sighed. "But it's his mom, and-"

"She's all he knows," May finished, hating that she understood.

"Exactly. I mean, I've been trying to jog his memory and I know Simmons has been doing everything she can, but…if nothing's happened yet, I don't see how-" She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes settling on something over May's shoulder. "Oh, my God," she murmured, standing up quickly. May's back was to the Bus's exit, so she couldn't see who or what had entered the plane, but Skye's squeal assured her it wasn't anything imminently dangerous.

"Oh, my God!" she repeated, running down the gangway.

May carefully stood up and turned around to see a small group of people assembled near the bottom of the ramp. Coulson and another man she didn't recognize were standing next to Skye, who had engulfed a small girl in a hug. She pulled back after a few seconds, but May had already recognized Simmons's younger sister.

"I can't believe you're here," Skye was saying as May made her way towards the group. "You look…you look so much better, Ellie."

May had to agree. The last time they'd seen the girl, she'd been nearly dead, her already petite form even more emaciated after HYDRA had tortured her. Though still small, her clothes fit more snugly around her now, her hair had regained its natural golden color, and her cheeks had filled out enough to see her dimples again. But May also noticed with a heavy heart that she seemed a lot less vibrant than she'd used to, despite her genuine smile.

Trauma had a way of doing that to a person.

"Thank you, Skye," she replied. "It's so good to see all of you, I've been so worried. Everything on the news-"

"Ah, don't listen to any of that," Skye said flippantly, though May could tell she wanted to divert attention away from what they'd been up to. "We've been just fine. What about you? Come on, I wanna hear everything. How's working for Stark?"

Ellie laughed. "I'm sure it'll be great, once I'm actually allowed to work." She noticed their confusion and quickly explained. "They're in the process of finishing the construction on my lab, which has been taking _ages_-"

"Wait, _your_ lab?" Skye asked incredulously.

"I know, I can't believe it either," Ellie shook her head in excitement. "And it's not just any old lab. I've been given an_ entire floor_ in the Avengers Tower to work out of-"

"Avengers Tower?"

Ellie gasped quietly. "Oh, I shouldn't have said that. Well, it's not really much of a secret, so I don't suppose there's any harm in telling you. Anyways, it's the working title of what used to be Stark Tower. You know, the one in New York? It's amazing, Skye, even better than the original. The renovations on it should be completed within the next year, but my lab is almost done."

"Holy crap, Ellie, that's insane," Skye marveled. "So…what've you been doing? Have you met any Avengers?"

Ellie gave her a rueful smile. "Most of them are quite busy, Skye. It's hardly the kind of thing you're thinking of." Skye looked a little deflated, so Ellie rolled her eyes. "But…Dr. Banner _has_ visited the office-"

"I knew it."

"Quite a lot," Ellie smiled. "Though he only stays for a little while. Most of the time it's just the two of us working in his office. Occasionally Pepper stops by, but she's a fairly busy woman, what with the entire company to run and all."

Skye held her hands up. "Wait, you're _working_…_with_ Stark?"

"Well, I wasn't just going to sit around on my bum all day, Skye," Ellie replied defensively. "Pepper put me under house arrest so I could recover, but after about a week of that I thought I was going to go mad. In the end I convinced her that I could continue recovering if given just some small task to work on. Anything would have done the trick, really. Thankfully, right around that time Mr. Stark hit a wall with his latest artificial intelligence project, so I volunteered to step in. He wasn't thrilled about it at first, but he hasn't thrown me out yet. And despite the fact that he calls me his assistant, he usually listens to what I have to say. Although, he has become quite obsessed with his project lately, I'm getting a little worried about him. But," she laughed again. "I suppose that's just the way he works."

May felt her lips curl into a small smile. Just a short while ago, the girl in front of her had had her entire world turned upside down. And though she'd chosen to leave S.H.I.E.L.D., May had been relieved. The girl was strong, stronger than she looked, but she'd needed to recover in a place where she could use her talents without having to live in constant fear. Their team couldn't offer her the kind of protection that Stark could. Or, perhaps more accurately, the kind of protection Pepper could.

"Oh!" Ellie said suddenly. "I almost forgot." She turned to the young man standing respectfully off to the side. "Do you have the…"

"Yeah, yeah," he replied quickly, looking somewhat startled at the abrupt attention.

"Thank you," she said as she took the envelope from his hands and gave him a smile. There was something odd about the exchange, but May couldn't quite put her finger on it. Perhaps it was the level of ease with which they acted around one another, though they couldn't have known each other for longer than a few months.

Out of many years of habit, May had been watching the man out of the corner of her eye, trying to gauge what kind of person had been given the responsibility of guarding Ellie. He didn't hold himself like a soldier, but he seemed strong enough for the job and kept a dutiful eye on her. But there was something else in the way he looked at her, a familiarity that said he knew she could take care of herself but that he would be there to protect her anyways.

When Ellie turned to Coulson, May realized what had been odd. The way Ellie's bodyguard looked at her said that he would take a bullet for her. Whether it was his job to or not.

But Ellie had an infectious personality. Perhaps he had just seen the goodness in her and sought to keep her out of harm's way. Or perhaps he was just really dedicated to his job. Either way, he didn't pose an immediate threat to Ellie or the Playground, so May turned her attention back to what was in Ellie's hands.

"Ms. Hill entrusted this with me," she explained, handing the small envelope to Coulson. "It's for you, sir."

Coulson only looked mildly surprised. "Ms. Hill," he snorted quietly. "That's so weird." He flipped open the lid of the envelope and glanced inside. "There's no cookie," he remarked with some disappointment.

"Pardon?" Ellie asked, glancing over at Skye, who simply shrugged.

"It's…nothing," Coulson said dismissively. "Oh…" he breathed as he pulled out the contents of the envelope.

"The coloring took me a while to get out," Ellie said apologetically, stepping over to his side and pointing to something. For his part, Coulson was staring dumbfounded at the cards in his hands. "Obviously it was easier than if it had been real blood, but it was still rather annoying as I didn't want to ruin the integrity of the cards. I had loads of time on my hands so I practiced on other materials first until I got it just right." She glanced up at him, her face falling as she saw his open mouth. "Well," she continued, her cheeks turning pink, "as you can surely see, they're a little more faded than I would've liked, but-"

Coulson began to shake his head. "Ellie, this is…" He turned the cards over in incredulity. "They're perfect," he finished before looking over at her. "Thank you."

She beamed up at him, though she was still blushing furiously. "Of course, sir," she replied. "It is a very impressive set, I must say. Though they're still unsigned, unfortunately. Captain Rogers came to the Tower a few times, and I know he'd do it in a second, but I figured you'd want to ask him yourself."

Coulson quickly glanced over at May, a brief shot of panic in his eyes. "You didn't...?"

"No, sir," Ellie assured him. "It wasn't my place."

He sighed before giving her a smile. "I appreciate it."

"If I may, though, sir," she said after a pause. "I think you should tell them." Coulson opened his mouth to protest, but Ellie pushed on. "I know there are risks, sir. But I also know that they would all be thrilled to hear that you're alive."

"That's sweet, Ellie," Coulson chuckled. "But…like S.H.I.E.L.D., I'm not exactly on the government's friends list at the moment. And with the world as crazy as it is right now, I don't think they need somebody else showing up and making it any crazier."

"Perhaps you're right, sir," she said softly. "We do live in a crazy world. But perhaps you'd be surprised. Perhaps in these uncertain times, everyone is in need of a little bit of hope." Even though her words were quiet, May felt the intensity with which she spoke them, and knew everyone else did too. "So perhaps…you're _exactly_ what they need right now."

Coulson looked speechless again, but Ellie saved him from responding by clearing her throat. "Now," she glanced between all of them. "Where's Jemma?"

* * *

She placed the phone back on the receiver in the comm room and gave a long sigh. "Thank you, Agent Koenig."

The other agent had his feet up on the desk, attentively watching the screens for any sign of abnormal activity. "Anytime," he replied. "Gotta make sure we're using those secure lines to make our calls. Wouldn't want anyone catching wind of what we're doing over here."

Jemma nodded politely before heading towards the door.

"You know, uh," Koenig began, swiveling around in his chair. "I know it probably won't mean a lot, but…you know this whole thing isn't your fault, right?"

Jemma kept her sigh to herself and gave him a tight smile. "He's her son, sir," she said softly. "And he got hurt in the field. It'd be hard not to blame the person who dragged him out there in the first place."

Koenig's eyes widened. "She doesn't really-"

"No, she never said as much," Jemma conceded. "But I know his mum, and I know it's what she's thinking."

He nodded, even though he didn't seem to understand. "Well, don't beat yourself up too much, kid," he said as he swung his chair back around. "You've been working your butt off to try to help that guy."

Jemma closed the door quietly behind her, glad that Koenig couldn't see the pain on her face. She made her way down the corridors until she found herself, as usual, in Fitz's room. The monitors and all of the medical equipment had been pushed off to the side, only used when she occasionally checked his brain's electrical activity. For the most part, it had all the appearances of a normal room. Without thinking too much, she walked over to his bedside bureau and began sifting through the drawers, looking for things he might want to take with him back home.

After removing a few shirts and a couple of notebooks, her eyes fell on the small object in the back of the top drawer. She carefully pulled out the old Rubik's Cube, trying not to let it bother her that he hadn't touched it since she'd brought it to him. Thankfully she was pulled out of her depressing thoughts by the sound of footsteps coming near the room.

Jemma barely had time to get a proper look at her visitor before she was nearly knocked over by the force of small arms wrapping around her neck.

"Ellie?" she breathed in shock, wrapping her own arms tightly around her sister. She allowed herself a brief moment to relax into the familiar embrace before pulling away, a new worry settling into the pit of her stomach. "What…what on earth are you doing here? It's dangerous here, Ellie. You shouldn't-"

"Jemma, Jemma, stop," Ellie replied, laughing a little. "I'm fine, I'm only here for a visit. But I had to come. I've been so worried, Jemma, you have no idea."

Jemma sighed with relief, furious with herself that she hadn't contacted Ellie sooner. "I'm sorry, Ellie, it's just been-"

"Crazy, I know."

Jemma nodded, glad that Ellie didn't seem particularly miffed at her sister's absence. "How have you been?" she asked. "Are you settling in okay? Is everything all right with Stark?"

"Yes, Jemma, it's been…it's been great. I mean, Stark insists on calling me Eleanor, but he lets me work in his office and only complains about me being there half the time, which Pepper calls a near miracle."

Jemma had about a thousand questions, most of them having to do with the fact that Ellie was working personally with Stark and was on a first-name basis with Pepper Potts. But as she and Ellie sat down on the bed, Jemma's eyes caught sight of a suited man standing near the doorway.

"Ellie," she murmured. "Who's that?"

"Who?" Ellie asked, whipping her head around. "Oh," she smiled. "This is Benny. He's my…" She hesitated for a moment, and when she turned back to Jemma, her face had a little color to them. "Bodyguard," she finished.

Jemma glanced back and forth between Ellie and the man next to the door, who gave her a shy wave. "Bodyguard?" she finally asked in confusion.

"It's a…long story," Ellie said, waving her hand.

"Hey, Ellie, I'm just gonna step outside for a minute," Benny said quietly, gesturing towards the hallway. "I'll be out here if you need me."

"Thank you, Benny," Ellie smiled.

As Benny left the room, Jemma watched her sister carefully. Admittedly, she didn't know Ellie as well as she should have, probably because she had spent the majority of their childhoods avoiding her, but she was comforted to see that Ellie had mostly recovered from the physical torture she'd undergone. And even though she didn't know Benny, she was relieved to know that Stark Industries had provided her sister with some form of protection.

She opened her mouth to ask one of her infinite questions, but Ellie beat her to it. "What happened, Jemma?" she asked with sudden fervor. "You went off the grid and I didn't hear anything from you and I thought the worst. Skye said you and Leo were at the bottom of the sea?" She was shaking her head, her eyes filling with tears. "This is exactly what I was afraid of."

"Ellie, I'm fine," Jemma assured her.

Ellie studied her face for a few seconds before wordlessly leaning forward and wrapping her arms around Jemma's neck. Jemma was momentarily confused at the unexpected embrace until she heard Ellie's voice, thick with tears. "Skye told me about Leo," she whispered. "Jemma, I'm so sorry."

"What?" Jemma asked, pulling away to see Ellie's face, which was twisted in pain. "Why?"

"Jemma, please," Ellie replied, trying to wipe away her tears. "This is me you're talking to here. I know how much he means to you."

Jemma glanced down at her hands. "Yeah, well, none of that matters anymore, does it?" she muttered bitterly. "It didn't matter to him while we were down there, and it doesn't matter to him now."

"Oh, my God," she heard Ellie murmur.

Jemma lifted her head to see Ellie looking at her with inexplicable pity. "What?"

"He told you, didn't he?" Ellie asked, her eyes filling with fresh tears.

Jemma shook her head. "I don't-"

"Oh, Jemma," Ellie sighed, and Jemma clenched her fists together, digging her nails into her palms to keep from crying.

"Look, don't you get it, Ellie?" she asked, more loudly than she'd intended. "It doesn't matter anymore. Because _he doesn't remember_. All right? He doesn't remember meeting me, he doesn't remember working together, none of it."

Ellie tried to grab onto her hand. "Jemma, I understand. But surely-"

"No," Jemma interrupted. "No, I've tried, okay? And nothing's worked. He…he completely avoids me, he only talks to me when he feels like he has to." She scoffed. "It's just like it was at the Academy. He hates me again, only this time we don't have Dr. Hall to force us to work together and-"

"Wait, wait, wait," Ellie said. "Jemma. What the hell are you going on about?"

Jemma was confused. "He doesn't remember me, Ellie. And there's no more time left. He's going to-"

"No," Ellie shook her head, her eyes widened in bafflement. "I meant the part where you said he hated you."

"Well…yeah," Jemma replied simply. "Of course he did. It took months for him to even acknowledge my presence, let alone suck up his pride enough to actually work with me-"

"Oh, bloody hell," Ellie laughed, still shaking her head. "Bloody hell, Jemma. You…you are an idiot. And I truly mean that as lovingly as possible." She reached out and pushed back a strand of hair behind Jemma's ear, and Jemma felt her sudden burst of energy fade. "That boy may have his issues, Jemma," Ellie continued with a sad smile. "But Leopold Fitz has never hated you in his entire life."

Jemma stared down at her hands again, trying to wrap her head around what Ellie was telling her. But Ellie didn't wait for her response. "Can I see him?" she asked.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Ellie," she said gently.

"But-"

"It might hurt to see him the way he is right now. He doesn't remember anybody."

Ellie sighed. "But he's Leo, Jemma," she replied, as if that was the only argument she needed. "I still want to see him."

Jemma hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

There was a pause as Jemma tried to think of anything that would change Ellie's mind. But her sister was resolute. "Okay," she nodded finally.

They walked slowly towards the Bus, Jemma knowing that Fitz was most likely tinkering with something or other in the lab. The doors whooshed open as they approached them.

Skye was standing across one of the lab benches from Fitz, who had his back to the entrance. "Look, all I'm saying is that you used to wear them all the time."

"Well all _I'm_ saying," Fitz replied, bent over one of the D.W.A.R.F.s, "is that I'd like to not feel like I'm being choked all day while I'm working, thank you very much."

"Okay, whatever you say," Skye laughed, but she was glancing at Ellie nervously. "Having some trouble there?" she asked him quietly, probably hoping, like Jemma, to prolong the inevitable meeting.

"It's just a minor…problem," he muttered, walking over to one of his toolboxes at the side of the lab. "I can't figure out how to make the damn thing-"

He stopped talking abruptly, his eyes falling on the newcomers as he turned around. The screwdriver in his hand clattered onto the lab bench. "You…" he breathed, staring at Ellie, and it was as if Jemma had had the wind knocked out of her. Because she knew what he was going to say next.

"You're the girl from the roof."


	10. Chapter 10

She backed away slowly, her legs moving of their own accord. She wasn't sure if anyone was talking to her, there was a buzzing sound that had filled her ears, but she was out of there before she had a chance to find out. She hadn't the faintest clue where she was going, but every ounce of her, every bone in her body, needed, _needed_ to get away.

She began walking faster, her feet taking her up the stairs into the Bus's common room. Since mostly everyone else was either in the base or the lab downstairs, it was her best chance of being alone.

But was that really what she wanted? To be alone?

She wanted to scream, she needed to scream, but nothing came out. She simply kept walking, unseeing, unhearing anything at all, until her eyes focused on the shelves in front of her. Because her body had unconsciously taken her to her safe place, the Bus's storeroom, where only one other person apart from herself had ever had cause to enter.

Jemma reached out to steady herself on one of the file cabinets, but it was too late. She could feel her tears getting ready to spill over, the tears she'd been holding back for the past two months, the tears she'd been saving because some small part of her had held out for the hope that he might remember. But that hope was gone now. How could she have been so stupid?

Her vision blurred as she stared at the drawer handle, the memory of the last time she'd stood in that spot washing over her. Last time, he'd known she'd needed him before she even knew she'd needed him. Last time, he hadn't asked for an explanation because he hadn't needed one. Last time, he'd allowed her to cry away from everyone else, away from the people that expected her to solve a problem she wasn't sure she could.

But this time wasn't like that.

Jemma clutched her stomach, the strength of her tears almost too much for her to bear. She didn't look behind her, didn't glance at the door, because she knew the empty space would break her heart all over again.

And as she sank to the floor, she felt the ghost of a hand on her shoulder. But it was only her imagination. Because this time, no one came.

This time, she cried alone.

* * *

May found Coulson in the comm/sat room with Koenig, studying a large map on the screen. The flashing red dots in various locations were Skye's way of indicating which bases were S.H.I.E.L.D.'s, HYDRA's, or unknown. A backscatter program also showed the spots that Fury had designated for emergency situations, secret bases that had been entrusted to Coulson with the black cube he'd affectionately named the Toolbox. May had to admit that Skye had done some impressive work compiling all of the data. But everything was still too scattered, too unorganized.

Koenig looked over his shoulder as he heard her approach and quickly glanced between her and Coulson. "I'm just…" he said, backing away towards the door, "gonna go check on…a thing, or…something. Be right back."

May might have chuckled under other circumstances, but she was too distracted. She slowly walked up and stood next to Coulson, crossing her arms and looking up at the screen. "What are you thinking?" she asked.

She saw him put a finger to his lips, as if deep in thought. "You know, I'm thinking we should probably come up with a different color-coding system. I mean, the red's okay for HYDRA, I think, but we should definitely-"

May sighed loudly. "Why is she here?"

There was a pause as he refolded his arms. "You said it yourself. We need more people."

"You know what I meant," she replied in a tight voice. "She _just_ got away from HYDRA, Phil. You know how long it takes to-"

"Relax, Melinda, she's not gonna stay," he assured her. "I already offered her a position, which she very politely refused." He turned his head to look at her. "I brought her here for Simmons."

May nodded after a moment, even though she wasn't entirely sure having Ellie at the Playground was a good thing for Simmons's current stress level. But the bags under Coulson's eyes were what prompted her next question. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

His jaw clenched together as he glanced back at the screen. "Enough."

"Coulson…"

"I'm fine, May," he said firmly, pointing to the screen. "You expect me to sleep while HYDRA's still out there, growing? I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm trying to rebuild an organization over here, and I've been given _very_ little to work with."

"I did notice," May argued. "But contrary to what you might think, you're not on your own. We'll follow you, you know that. But we _need_ more agents. And _you_ need a Deputy Director."

He scoffed. "Says the woman who wants to be my second-in-command without actually being my second-in-command."

"We've been over this, Phil. Your Deputy Director isn't gonna have time to keep an eye on you."

"I don't need a baby-sitter," he replied.

She smirked at him. "Yes, you do."

He was trying not to smile, she could tell, but he failed after a few seconds. "Okay, well Hill didn't want the job either."

"Hill's not your only option," May reasoned.

"I don't trust anyone else."

"That's not true."

Coulson was silent for a while as he looked at her, the hesitancy on his face telling her he knew who she was talking about. "I'll think about it," he said finally, turning back to the Holotable and switching through their feeds.

"Well, don't take too long," she responded quietly, trying not to be discouraged by the number of dots on the screen or the hunch in Coulson's shoulders.

* * *

Skye was frozen, unsure if she had actually heard what she thought she'd just heard. She might have just dismissed it as crazy if Simmons hadn't immediately darted out of the room or if Fitz hadn't still been staring at Ellie.

"Wait a second. Fitz," she finally managed to say as she slowly walked to stand in between the two of them. "Do you know her?" she asked, hoping that one of them would confirm what she didn't think had been possible, that he'd remembered. Simmons and the other doctor had said that his only chance of regaining his memory was through spontaneous recovery, through either hearing or saying something that would act as a sort of trigger.

Had Ellie been the trigger?

"Yeah," Fitz replied, shaking his head in disbelief. "We, uh, we met a couple years ago in Glasgow."

"I was there for a summer camp," Ellie said quietly, and though she was smiling Skye noticed that she looked on the verge of tears.

"Yeah, yeah, and I was, uh, working at the University. We actually met-"

"On the roof," she finished.

"On the roof, yeah," he repeated with a grin, still shaking his head. Skye hadn't seen him smile like that in a long time. "I don't think I ever told you, because I never saw you again after that, but, uh…" He scratched his head, looking somewhat embarrassed. "I actually took your advice, and decided to go ahead and study over in America. Which is…kind of obvious now, I suppose. And I guess it'd actually be more than a couple years ago, wouldn't it? You look…well, you look a lot…older, for one thing."

"We're both a lot older now," Ellie replied, her voice hitching slightly.

"Yeah, I suppose we are," Fitz said quietly as his smile faded a little. "Hang on, how do…" He pointed in between Skye and Ellie. "How do _you_ two know each other?"

Ellie stepped closer to him. "We never actually did exchange names back then, did we? I'm Ellie. Ellie Simmons."

"Sim…" he murmured, his eyes widening as he glanced towards the glass doors. "So you and…? You two are-"

"Sisters, yes," Ellie clarified.

"Huh," Fitz breathed, leaning back against the table as he continued to stare at Ellie. "Small world."

"And getting smaller," she said before turning her head to look behind her. "Now where did she go?"

Skye's mind was still reeling from all of the new information, but she vaguely remembered Simmons mentioning something about how Fitz had actually met Ellie years before they'd been paired together at the Academy. And even though Skye didn't know the whole story, she knew that if Fitz remembered Ellie, then Simmons was probably devastated. "I'll go find her," she said, heading towards the lab doors.

"But-"

"No, no, Ellie, it's totally fine. Besides," she shook her head. "You two have a _lot_ of catching up to do."

Skye was thankful for the cool breeze on her face as the doors slid open before her. She was so light-headed that she almost walked into the tall man standing outside.

"Oh, sorry," she began to say before recognizing Ellie's bodyguard. She immediately folded her arms and checked over her shoulder to make sure the doors had fully closed behind her. "Name?" she demanded.

The guard looked a little surprised at her coldness, but he met her intensity with a calm demeanor. "It's, uh, it's Benny."

"Full name."

"Uh…" he stammered, glancing over her shoulder, probably upset that Ellie wasn't there to defend him. "Benjamin Bradley Pollack."

"And you work for Stark?"

He nodded distractedly, still sneaking glances over her shoulder at Ellie. "Yes, ma'am."

She scoffed bitterly. "Don't call me ma'am."

The guard was starting to look mildly annoyed. "I work for Stark Industries, yes."

"And if it came down to it," she continued, trying to keep her voice from trembling. "If your life was the only thing standing in the way of something or someone hurting her…would you give it up?"

He met her gaze, and when he spoke, she saw the conviction in his eyes. "In a heartbeat."

There were a couple moments of silence as she let his words sink in. Something in his expression puzzled her, something in his conviction that said perhaps he wasn't just speaking theoretically. "Good," she said finally, clearing her throat. "Because if anything happens to her under your watch, I _will_ find you, Benjamin Pollack."

"I would expect nothing less," he said sincerely.

She nodded once before making her way down the cargo ramp, not trusting her voice to say anything else.

"Agent Skye?" she heard him say. She spun around, raising her eyebrows in question.

He gave her a small smile. "She worries about you, too."

Skye still wasn't sure if she could trust him, but she managed to give him another nod before turning back around. The warmth she felt from his comment quickly disappeared, though, when she entered the base and remembered.

She had to find Simmons.

She looked in all the usual spots, but after the third time of checking both Fitz's and Simmons's rooms, she decided that if Simmons was hiding, she probably wanted to be left alone. As she passed the kitchen, her eyes fell on the refrigerator. There wasn't really anything special about the fridge itself, it was just a normal fridge. But it gave Skye an idea.

She navigated through the Playground's hallways, trying to remember the way to the small medical storeroom they had on the base. It took her a few tries, but she found it eventually and made her way towards the back of the room, to the fridge where Simmons kept most of her things for easy access. She scoured the vials behind the glass, finally settling upon a set near the bottom of one shelf. The name on the case was written in neat bold letters.

She was about to grab the entire case, but thought better of it at the last second. Instead, she took out the last two capped vials and slipped them into her pocket.

When she strode back onto the Bus, she saw Ellie walking out of the lab, her mouth in a tight line. Behind her, Fitz had gone back to the D.W.A.R.F. he'd been working on, though Skye noticed that he was sitting down and that he seemed somewhat distracted. The sudden appearance of Ellie, the first person he'd seen in over two months that he'd actually recognized, must have jarred him a little. And though Skye hadn't been expecting anything, she found herself disappointed that Ellie hadn't been able to jog his memory further. She felt the weight of the vials in her jacket pocket grow heavier as she walked over to Ellie.

When she saw her, Ellie moved over towards the staircase and began pacing. As soon as Skye was out of Fitz's sight, Ellie stopped and looked up at her, her eyes brimming with tears. "Skye…" she began, her voice in an almost deadly whisper. "Why was he…" She took a shaky breath. "Why were they…at the bottom of the sea?"

Skye's heart hurt at seeing how upset she was. "Ellie…"

"Who did this to him?" she asked fiercely.

If there was anything Skye did not want to talk about, it was this. But Ellie deserved to know the truth. "It was Ward, Ellie," she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. It was the first time she'd spoken his name in months. It felt foreign on her tongue now.

Ellie looked as if she'd been slapped in the face. "W…Ward?" she repeated, shaking her head in disbelief.

Skye nodded. "It was a surprise to all of us, sweetie. He…he was HYDRA."

Ellie was still shaking her head. "No, you're mistaken, Skye."

"Ellie…"

"No, Skye!" Ellie cried, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "_No_. Okay? He _saved_ Jemma's life. Remember? He jumped out of the Bus so that-"

"So that he could gain our trust," Skye replied gently. "Look, I know it's hard to accept-"

"No, you don't understand, Skye," Ellie insisted, breathing heavily as she tried to calm down. "He saved _my_ life, too."

Skye was thrown for a moment. "What? When?"

"_He's the one who got me out_."

Skye simply stared at Ellie for a few seconds, trying to remember the day they rescued her. Something didn't add up. "But he wasn't there when we found you."

"Well…well, no," she admitted. "No, he was going to take me straight to you, but…" She trailed off, her eyes scrunched together. "But then something happened, I can't remember what, but…but he had to stay behind for some reason, and…and…" A look of understanding dawned on her face, although she didn't look any less miserable. "And no one was in the hallways during our escape," she finished in a flat voice. "I thought that was weird at the time, but I just…I don't know, I thought he'd just taken care of everything, I suppose. And then…then he must have made a mistake or something, because he made me knock him out and leave on my own, because…because-"

"Because he couldn't do it," Skye said gently. "You were a weakness." She scoffed. "A mistake he would never make again."

"Oh, how could I have been so stupid?" Ellie whispered, sinking down onto the bottom step of the staircase.

"You weren't stupid, Ellie," Skye assured her, sitting down beside her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "He played us all."

"Oh, Skye…" she said, looking over at her with an inexplicable concern. "I know you cared about him. You must be-"

Skye shook her head, suddenly needing a change of subject. "Don't worry about me," she replied, giving Ellie her sincerest smile before she reached into her pocket and pulled out the vials.

"What's that?"

Skye hesitated before she told her. "My blood."

Ellie seemed baffled. "I don't-"

"You saw him in there," Skye said, gesturing towards the lab. "Okay, Ellie? You saw how he doesn't remember anything."

Ellie sighed, the pity still in her eyes. "Skye, I know what you're thinking-"

"You helped create the GH-325-"

"All of my research is gone, not to mention-"

"You said yourself that the last remains of it are in my blood."

Ellie was starting to look panicked. "Skye, what you're suggesting could take months, even _years_, and that's not even taking into account the trials the drug would have to undergo before I would even _consider_ giving it to him-"

"Ellie," Skye interrupted, knowing she was asking too much. "I have to do something. I can't just give up on him."

Ellie must have seen the pain on Skye's face, because her arguments faded before she nodded. "I'll see what I can do, Skye. But I wouldn't get your hopes up if I were you."

Skye deposited the vials into Ellie's hand and gave her fingers a small squeeze. "Thank you."

Ellie placed the blood into a small compartment of her bag. "If I'm going to be doing this, I'm going to need some important information from you."

"Yeah, anything," Skye replied.

Ellie raised an eyebrow. "The drug's side-effects."

She sighed. "Ellie, I wasn't lying when I said I was fine. I swear, nothing weird is going on…" she made a vague gesture to her body. "Here. Lots of weird stuff going on out there, though," she smirked, pointing outside.

Ellie smiled as she rolled her eyes. "I'm glad to hear that, Skye. Really, I am. But I actually wasn't talking about you."

Skye winced. "Oh."

"He looks awful, Skye."

"Oh, come on," she reasoned half-heartedly. "He doesn't look that bad."

"He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks. _And_ when I approached him earlier, he nearly jumped out of his skin."

"He's just a little stressed out, Ellie," Skye said, although she'd been worried about Coulson lately too. "It comes with the territory."

Ellie didn't look particularly convinced, but she let the subject drop. Skye was almost thankful, but her relief was short-lived. "Where is Ward now?" she asked, and though she sounded innocent enough, Skye could see her mind racing.

"Um…the government has him, I think," Skye replied, hoping to deter Ellie from whatever train of thought she was on. "Yep, he's gonna get locked up for a very long time. I wouldn't worry."

Ellie was holding her arms around her torso, almost as if she felt cold or sick. "But do you know where he is specifically?"

Now Skye was getting worried. "Probably an army prison, would be my guess. He's getting court-martialed, Ellie."

But Ellie was barely paying attention to her, her gaze boring into the floor as her face turned white. "Which branch?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Which branch has him?" she asked more forcefully.

"I don't know, Ellie," Skye replied, unsure where this was all coming from. "Does it matter?"

Ellie's face was still white when she glanced up. "It could, Skye."

Even though Skye had no idea what was going on, she knew something was wrong. And though they'd put the matter to bed a long time ago, Skye knew that she owed it to everyone on the team and to Ellie to make sure her worries were unfounded. They walked silently through the base, Skye leading Ellie and her dutiful bodyguard into the comm/sat room.

Coulson turned around when they came in, his face falling at seeing their solemn expressions. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yep," Skye replied quickly, settling into her usual chair. "Just looking something up." She pulled up to the Holotable and swiped a few keys. "Okay…let me just…access the records…He's not listed in any of the databases anymore, but I can probably trace him using his biometrics…" She input his information, along with the arrest dates, and after searching through a few backchannels, something finally popped up. "There he is," she said with an air of satisfaction. Her eyes quickly scanned through the pages. "They brought him to…Camp Pendleton for pretrial confinement. See?" She pointed to the screen in front of her, but something near the bottom of the document caught her eye. "And then…wait, hang on." She scrolled down further. "That's weird," she muttered.

"What?" Coulson asked, leaning forward to see what she was talking about.

"That can't be right. There's a transfer order."

"What? To where?"

She swiped down to the bottom of the page. "Grissom Air Reserve Base," she read before looking over at Coulson. "That's, like, in the middle of nowhere, isn't it?"

Coulson's eyes were still on the screen, as if by staring at it confusedly he could change what he was reading. "Why on earth would he get moved there?"

"Oh, no," Skye heard a small voice murmur from behind her. She turned around to see Ellie, all the color drained from her face.

"What, Ellie?"

"Who ordered the transfer?"

Skye turned back to the screen, the dread in her stomach growing worse. "Oh, look," she announced, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's our favorite trigger-happy colonel."

"Talbot?" Coulson asked.

"That's the one," she said before giving a long sigh. "He sure is a douchebag."

"But at least he's anti-HYDRA," Coulson reasoned, turning to face Ellie. "It could be worse."

But Ellie was shaking now, and actually looked like she was having trouble breathing. Skye quickly stood up. "What's wrong, Ellie?"

Ellie shook her head and cringed away from her, but Skye could tell that she wasn't reacting to them. She was somewhere else, seeing something else. "I'm…" she choked out. "He's…he's not-"

Benny the Bodyguard was immediately at her side. "He's not anti-HYDRA, sir," he finished for her.

Coulson glanced between the two of them. "What? Are you sure?"

"Positive, sir," Benny replied before turning his attention back to Ellie.

"Benny, I'm all right," she said in between deep breaths. She seemed to have calmed down, but her hands were still shaking a little. "Really." Benny nodded, but he stayed by her side as she turned to Coulson. "Sir, he isn't just HYDRA," she explained, and all of a sudden Skye felt sick to her stomach. "He's one of their leaders. And he's the one who tortured me."


	11. Chapter 11

Skye sped down the hallway, having to nearly jog to keep up with Coulson. "Hey," she called out, trying not to sound too ticked off.

Coulson slowed down, but only a little. His eyes were still focused on wherever he was going rather than on her. "What is it, Skye?" he asked, although by his tone he seemed to know what she was upset about.

"You didn't say my name back there."

His expression didn't change. "I know."

She shook her head, wishing he would stop so she could get some answers. "Did I do something wrong?"

Coulson sighed, his jaw relaxing somewhat. "No, Skye."

"Then why-"

He stopped in his tracks, turning so he could face her. "You know why."

Skye had to go to her deep-meditation happy place in order to keep her voice calm. "I've been working _just_ as hard as everybody else-"

"I know you have," he replied. "This isn't about that."

If anything, his reassurance made Skye even angrier, probably because behind all of his forced professionalism she could see his concern. "What? You think it's too _personal_ for me?"

Coulson didn't even hesitate. "Yeah," he nodded.

"Well…" Skye said, folding her arms as she tried to think of a good argument. "You're…wrong."

"Am I, though?" he smirked, undoubtedly amused by her lack of better reasoning. But he must have realized how hurt she was because he grew serious again. "Look, Skye, it's not that I don't think you can handle it-"

"Because I totally can-"

"Just sit this one out," he said firmly, looking like he was losing his patience with her. "All right?"

"But-"

"Drop it, Skye."

She stood rooted to the spot as he walked away from her. Deep down, she knew he was only trying to protect her. But that didn't mean she was going to give up so easily.

"It's a military base, A.C.," she called after him. "May and Trip are good, but they're not _that_ good. They can't do it alone."

He didn't bother turning around, but she still heard his reply. "They won't be alone."

* * *

May crouched in between the bushes, her eyes scouring the busy square. She was uneasy enough doing the op in broad daylight, and the throngs of innocent people around weren't helping. Thankfully she didn't have to wait long before Trip's voice came crackling through her comm.

"I've got visual," he said, and she saw him set aside the newspaper he'd been pretending to read. "Your ten o'clock."

May turned her head to see, but the colonel wasn't difficult to spot, his bright blue uniform gleaming in the sunlight. "All right, move into place," she ordered. "But don't get too close yet. He might recognize you."

"Got it," Triplett replied. Across the square she saw him lean forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and even in the distance she could see the muscles in his right shoulder tense up slightly. May was glad to see that he was ready for action, but she knew he still hadn't fully recovered from the bullet graze he'd taken the week before. She would have to keep an eye on him.

May was losing count of how many people she had to keep an eye on.

Over to her left, the colonel had paused to glance behind him, but the tree line kept May from identifying what he'd stopped for. "Trip?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Just then, a woman stepped out from behind the trees, smiling as she caught up with Talbot. A young boy followed on their heels, but he was staring down at the game player in his hands and didn't seem to be paying much attention to what was going on around him. May's uneasiness continued to grow as the group made their way towards the center of the square.

"That HYDRA bastard brought the wife and kid along," Triplett muttered, standing up to casually walk over near one of the surrounding coffee vendors. "Your call, Agent May."

May's mind raced through the scenarios, trying to think of how to draw Talbot out without any bystander casualties or gaining too much attention. She carefully stood up, walking along the outer edge of the square towards the center fountain. "Can you provide a distraction?"

She saw Triplett reach for his bag, grinning at the prospect of using some of his granddad's gadgets. But his smile faded as he glanced back at the Talbot family, and he went for his ICER instead. "Looks like I won't have to."

May's vision was blocked again, but she soon saw what he meant. Behind the colonel, standing a few feet away, was a tall muscular man staring unabashedly at Talbot. He was unarmed, but the size of his biceps suggested that he rarely needed a weapon. His stance alone was enough for Talbot to back away from him a little, holding his hands up in a gesture of conciliation. May couldn't hear what either of them was saying, but the newcomer didn't seem in the mood for conversation. Without warning he began stepping closer to the colonel.

Talbot quickly reached into his pocket, probably making a last-ditch attempt to call for backup. He turned to his family and motioned for them to move towards the edge of the square before facing the other man. Already, people throughout the square had noticed the commotion and were moving closer to the exits. But that was about all the relief May was given. The colonel's adversary glanced over towards Talbot's wife and son, and might have begun to walk that way if Talbot hadn't made a swing for his head.

The man caught Talbot's arm in an expertly maneuvered block, and in a flash of movement, managed to punch him in the stomach. Almost at once, two SUVs pulled up onto the square, a squad of armed soldiers jumping out of the doors and racing towards the confrontation. Though doubled over, Talbot was able to back away from his assailant, who didn't seem fazed by the new company.

May saw Triplett step towards the colonel. "What the hell is this guy doing? There are civilians."

"Trip, do not engage," she said firmly. "I repeat, do not engage."

He paused, but May could see his hand tighten on his ICER. "Talbot's gonna get away."

May smirked as two soldiers stepped forward and flanked Talbot on either side. "No, he won't," she replied, edging closer to the scene. The other guards were hurriedly ushering people out of the square, but they didn't notice her in the corner or Triplett taking cover behind a few trees. She saw Talbot slowly stand up, shouting something unintelligible at the man. But it was as if he was deaf to Talbot's words, because he disregarded them, lunging forward to attack the colonel again.

That's when the first shot rang through the square.

The tranquilizers hit the man in his chest, coming from a couple of the soldiers near the west side of the square. The rest of the squad moved closer as a group, their weapons held up at the ready.

The man didn't even flinch.

May felt her blood run cold as he continued to step forward.

"Hold your fire!" she heard Talbot roar. "Do _not_ open fire!"

But it was too late. The man reached the colonel in just a few strides and wrapped his hand around Talbot's throat, lifting him off the ground as if he weighed no more than a few pounds. Almost immediately Talbot lost consciousness, and the man tossed him off to the side, where his lifeless body lay crumpled on the ground. Off in the distance May could hear the agony of a woman's scream.

The two soldiers flanking the colonel backed away, moving closer to where May was standing. But a few of the other guards began firing real bullets. The man simply spun around, undeterred by the lead piercing his torso. He backhanded one of the nearest soldiers, sending him flying towards the fountain, and within seconds the square became a madhouse. Soldiers came at the man from all directions, only to get knocked unconscious by his unstoppable force.

The two soldiers finally reached May, and she handed both of them ICERs. "What've we got?"

"Carl Creel," the woman replied as they briskly circled around the back of the square. "Caused a bit of a ruckus a few weeks back when he burned down a chemical lab in Fort Wayne. Locals say he can adopt the properties of anything he touches, call him the Absorbing Man."

"Ah, gotta love America and your unmatched capacity for naming things," the other soldier quipped, his English accent further underlining his sarcasm.

"Is it true?" May asked, although by the scattered bodies of soldiers around the square, she already had her answer.

"It would appear so."

"They just brought him in last week, but this kinda guy can't be locked down like anybody else. It was never gonna work."

Over by the Absorbing Man, the last remaining soldier was flung off to the side, crashing into one of the abandoned vendor carts. May motioned for the three of them to spread in a line. "I'm guessing the colonel was the one who locked him up."

Despite the situation, the woman gave her a smirk as she raised her ICER. "Now what could have possibly given you that impression?"

May felt the strange urge to laugh, but a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

"Trip, no!" she shouted into her comm, but Triplett had already dashed out of the tree line, firing ICER bullets one after another at the attacker. The Absorbing Man only shuddered for a second the veins in his skin flashing blue momentarily before he lashed out his arm in anger, clipping Triplett on the shoulder.

"Hey!" the woman shouted, running down the center of the pavement and firing her ICER repeatedly. "Over here, big guy."

Triplett was wincing as he used the distraction to run up to May. "I'm fine," he assured her, but he was shaking out his right arm, which must have gone numb from the contact. "Looks like ICERs aren't gonna work, though."

The English soldier jogged over, keeping his ICER raised towards the action. "We're almost out of time. I'll go get the prisoner and meet you back at the rendezvous. You guys deal with…Troubled SpongeBob SquarePants over there."

May kept an eye on him as he ran towards the building, unsure if enlisting a mercenary to complete the job was Coulson's best idea. "Trip, you go with Hunter."

Triplett didn't race after him, but instead remained by her side as she edged closer to the scene. "Guys like him tend to work alone."

May simply glared at him, and within a second he nodded. "Understood."

The woman must have run out of ICER bullets, because she was quickly backing away from the Absorbing Man. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" she asked when she reached May.

May nodded. "You go around back," she ordered. "I'll try to get him away from the crowd."

"Copy that."

As soon as she'd raced away, May lifted her ICER and fired once, hitting the man square in the chest. He immediately turned his attention to her, and she saw the twitch in his muscles the split second before he took off. She ran back, hoping he would follow her further into the center of the square, and as he came closer, she held up her weapon. The fountain towered behind her, blocking off her escape, but she heard an inconsistent splash that gave her the assurance she needed.

"Mr. Creel, we're not here to hurt you," she called out. "You need to _calm down_."

He shook his head, stepping forward so that he was only a few paces away. "They did this to me. Turned me into a…a monster. And now…they're gonna pay for it."

"I understand," she said, trying to reason with him. "But we're not them. We can help you."

He wasn't listening, though. "No," he growled. "You've _helped _enough."

May took a deep breath. "Now!" she shouted, sidestepping out of the way as Creel lunged forward. Behind her, the agent, still dressed in her soldier's disguise, used both of her hands to send a huge splash onto him.

The man stumbled backwards, momentarily startled by the water hitting his face. He stared at his hands in confusion as bits of his skin appeared to drip onto the ground, and let out a yell of frustration. May's eyes widened at the impossible sight she was looking at, but she took advantage of his hesitancy to leap up and kick him in the chest.

The force from her boot seemed to give him renewed strength, but when he turned around he lost his footing, falling backwards into the fountain. May held her arms up, determined to keep fighting if their plan didn't work. But when the mist cleared, there was only one person standing in the basin.

She stepped over the fountain wall, wringing out her hat. "Looks like we still got it," she smirked at May.

May returned her smile, although her eyes were still searching the water for any sign of their adversary. "Good to see you too, Izzy."

Izzy glanced behind her. "You think that did it?"

"Not sure," May replied, still trying to wrap her head around how someone's physical makeup could be altered so strongly to be able to become what he touched. "We'll have to let the base deal with it for now, though. We've already been here too long."

Izzy tossed her hat aside and grinned. "Let's go get our boys."

* * *

Fitz stood up quickly as the lab doors opened, picking up the device in front of him and trying to pretend like he hadn't been staring at it in bafflement for the last twenty minutes. But Skye wasn't really paying much attention to him, flopping down on one of the swivel chairs in a huff and opening up the laptop she kept on the desk.

"Didn't go well, I take it?" he asked hesitantly, hoping she wasn't too upset to talk to him.

She spun around and gave him a sarcastic smile. "How could you tell?" She stood up and walked over to lean against the bench across from him. "Ugh," she groaned, running her fingers through her hair in frustration. "He just makes me so…_mad_ sometimes. I don't know why he insists on treating me like a little kid."

"He's only looking out for you, you know."

She met his eyes and sighed. "Yeah, I know," she said, folding her arms. "I just wish he'd focus on…I don't know, things that are actually important."

The words spilled out of his mouth on accident. "You're important," he said quietly.

She didn't appear to hear him, though. "Huh?"

"Sorry," he muttered, gesturing towards the contraption in his hands. "Bloody bot."

He thanked his lucky stars that she didn't press the matter further. Instead she leaned against the bench again and rested her head in her hands, watching him intently. After about a minute he heard her sigh. "Hey, you wanna take a break?"

He chuckled, though with the trouble he was having, a break sounded like just what he needed. "And do what?"

She sat up again, and the spark in her eyes only made him a little nervous. "I just realized that for all the time you've spent in here, you've never gotten a tour of the Bus."

Fitz glanced away from her, trying to think of a way to respond without hurting her feelings. "Skye, I appreciate what you're trying to do…"

"Look, I know it's a pretty big leap," she admitted, her faltered smile making him feel even worse. "And yeah, nothing will probably happen, but…I think it's at least worth a shot."

He didn't want to refuse her, because he didn't want to give her something else to be upset about. But he also knew that even if they brought him to every single place he'd been in the last eight years, there was probably little to no chance that he would remember being there. Or, perhaps more accurately, he wouldn't remember _everything_ about being there.

Because the truth was, he wasn't completely ignorant. He recognized some things, even recalled some events that he knew couldn't have happened over the last two months. The problem was that he couldn't remember _everything_. The things he remembered were bits and pieces, scattered across his mind haphazardly so that he couldn't understand them. And they didn't stay in one place either. Sometimes he would see something at the edge of his mind, and when he tried to recall it further, it would slip through the cracks.

It was the most frustrating thing he'd ever experienced in his life. And the expectant faces around him didn't help in the slightest.

Across from him, Skye had folded her hands under her chin and stuck her lower lip out. "Please, Fitz?" she asked, her eyes shining brightly under the fluorescent light. "Pretty pretty please?"

Damn. How was he supposed to refuse that? "All right, all right," he laughed, shaking his head. "Lead the way, I guess."

She smiled again, walking out of the lab and taking him up the winding staircase. She gave him a brief overview as they made their way through the main level.

"Wait, let me get this straight," he interrupted, looking around in amazement. "You have a fully functional laboratory, a communications room, three levels, a bar, a holding cell, and enough space to house at least six people. But only one bathroom?"

"Yup," she nodded.

He raised his eyebrows and gave a low whistle. "Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen."

"You know, I thought so too, at first," she replied. "But the novelty of walking in on everyone naked kinda wears off after the third or fourth time." She'd said the last bit casually, but he saw the smirk on her face as she walked on ahead of him.

Fitz held up a hand. "You didn't...uh," he stammered, following her down a hallway. "Now wait a minute-"

"This is May's bunk," she continued, ignoring him as she pointed to a set of sliding doors. "Though I swear she's, like, never in it." They continued walking along the hall. "That one is Simmons's, mine, and…" She stopped in front of one bunk, opening the door to gesture inside. "Ta-da!"

He pointed a finger at his chest. "Me?"

"All yours," she nodded, smiling as she leaned against the outer door.

He hesitantly stepped inside the bunk, not really sure what he was expecting to find. The bed was fairly nondescript, just a plain duvet and a couple pillows. All in all he supposed it was a nice room, if a bit on the small side.

"Nothing, huh?" Skye asked from behind him.

He slowly spun around, trying to take in the details. "It's got that certain vibe I would probably go for, I'll give you that," he admitted. "The window is a nice touch. But it's a lot neater than I would've…" His voice trailed off as his eyes fell on the shelf to the left of his bed. "Expected," he finished quietly. The shelf was filled with various odds and ends, some items he recognized and some he didn't. He smiled a little to himself as he noticed a miniature TARDIS and a framed portrait of Charles Babbage, his favorite engineer. There was even a small monkey hanging off of the ledge, right next to…

"What's this?" he asked, noticing the edges of a few photographs near the back of the shelf. He carefully slid them out, but Skye wasn't the one who answered him.

"That one's from one of our first field missions," Simmons said, standing hesitantly near the doorway. "We went to Peru-"

"Yeah, you told me about that," he replied, staring at the photograph in his hands. He and Simmons were standing in front of a huge pyramid. "What was it again, a 2-8-7?"

"0-8-4," she corrected him.

"0-8-4, yeah, that was it." He flipped to the next photo, which showed him and Simmons again, this time grinning in front of an industrial-looking building, holding up their badges to the camera.

"Yeah…and that one's from our first day at SciOps," she went on, stepping a little further into the room to get a better look at the picture. He snuck a glance over at her and noticed an almost nostalgic smile on her lips, as if she were remembering what had happened that day. He slowly flipped to the last picture, and almost wished he hadn't.

"And that one…" Simmons continued quietly, "was the day we graduated from the Academy." It was the two of them, again, which wasn't really the surprising part. They looked younger, or at least she did. Her hair was a little unkempt, as if she'd only just removed the cap upon her head, while his looked about ready to fall off. He had his arm around her shoulders, and his face was spread out into an almost laughably huge grin. And in the center, right next to him, Simmons was leaning up on her toes in order to press her lips to his cheek. It must have been a spontaneous shot, because the outer edges of the photograph were a little blurry. But it was their faces that were in focus, and it was their faces that surprised him.

Because they looked…well…happy. In all senses of the word. As if they could take on the world together, a world full of endless possibilities.

A world in which nothing bad could ever happen to them.

He didn't know why, but all of a sudden he didn't want to be in that bunk anymore. Thankfully Simmons broke the silence.

"I brought some sandwiches over," she announced, clearing her throat. "In case either of you were hungry."

"Oh, my God, yes," Skye replied a little too loudly. "Simmons, you're the best. I'm starving."

Fitz silently put the photographs back on the shelf before following after them into the kitchen, even though he was pretty sure he'd lost his appetite. Simmons was pulling a few wrapped bundles out of a paper bag, and Fitz noticed with some amusement that they'd been labeled with his and Skye's names in probably the neatest handwriting he'd ever seen.

"Thanks," he said, unwrapping the sandwich in front of him.

"Of course," she smiled, though she avoided his eyes.

Fitz could feel Skye watching the both of them closely before she loudly rewrapped her sandwich. "You know, I completely forgot," she said, waving her hand near her head. "I was supposed to meet up with Koenig right about now, so I've gotta take this to go. See you guys later?"

Fitz nodded after her, even though she hadn't waited for their response. He snuck another glance at Simmons and noticed a small flash of panic in her eyes, and that she hadn't even touched the sandwich in front of her. He wracked his brain for something to say, and his gaze wandered to one of the bunks Skye hadn't mentioned.

"That man," he said after a few awkward seconds. "The one the others are going to get…is he the one who…?"

"Yes," Simmons replied simply, avoiding his eyes again. Sometimes he wished he could remember what had happened, if only so he would know which topics to steer clear of with her.

"Oh…" he nodded, taking a bite out of the sandwich as a way to figure out what to say next. Because, after all, the man in question was the reason he couldn't remember anything in the first place. "And…and you think he could still be working with HYDRA?"

Simmons sighed, but he was relieved to see her relax a little. "I don't know, Fitz. It could very well be possible."

They'd explained everything to him before, but he was still having trouble putting some of the pieces together. "The colonel who transferred him…I think you said we've met him before, yeah?"

"Yes," she said in annoyance. "He was awful, kept trying to intimidate us into giving him information." Before he knew what was happening, there were tears in her eyes. "But…I never-"

"Hey, it's okay-"

"Suspected he was the one who-"

"You couldn't have known it was him," he tried to assure her, uncertain if he should pat her on the back or offer his hand or something. Skye had told him that the girl from the roof, Ellie he'd recently discovered, had been tortured by HYDRA, and had only recently escaped from the colonel's clutches. He couldn't even imagine how Simmons was handling the news, but he had absolutely no idea how to comfort her. In the end he settled for handing her a napkin.

She simply stared at his hand for a few seconds before glancing up at his face, one eyebrow raised in bewilderment. And he didn't know how it started, but the next thing he knew they were both doubled over laughing.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, the napkin still hanging uselessly from his hand. "I don't have a clue of how-"

"No, no, Fitz," she said, shaking her head as she took it from him and tried to stifle another laugh. "That is…that is exactly something you would've done before."

"Well, that's a relief," he smiled. "Wouldn't want to brutally embarrass myself or anything."

She laughed again, and he found himself inexplicably sad when it faded. Maybe it was because she had a contagious laugh. Or maybe it was because when she laughed, her smile played upon the parts of his brain that he struggled to remember.

"Yes, well," she sighed, looking back down at her untouched food. "Hopefully it'll all be over with soon."

Fitz wasn't sure whether she was talking about getting their former team member back in their custody or if her comment was about his impending departure. He quickly tried to change the subject. "Your sister, did she-"

"She left, yes. Went back to Stark. I don't think she was ever going to stay on long, but it was probably all a bit much for her."

Fitz nodded, smiling a little. "Yeah," he whispered.

He saw her wince. "Oh, I'm sorry, Fitz," she said. "I'd forgotten all about Glasgow. I know it was probably a surprise for you."

He shook his head, even though she was right. "No, no, it was…it was fine. Just a wee bit of a shock, that's all." He glanced down at his hands, which were tracing circles in the counter. "To be honest, though, I don't think I really believed any of you until-"

"Until you saw her," she finished quietly.

"Until I saw how much time had passed, yeah," he admitted, still staring at the counter. "It's easy to get in your head, you know? To tell yourself that none of it is real. But then something like that happens, and-"

"It shakes you up."

He nodded again, finding it hard to speak all of a sudden. But this time he didn't feel compelled to say anything, knowing that he and Simmons had probably sat in silence loads of time. They continued eating quietly, and though his appetite was weaker than usual, he ended up devouring his food in record time.

"The sandwich," Simmons said, her voice a little high. "Is it all right?"

He nodded emphatically, just realizing how much he'd actually enjoyed it. "Yeah, yeah, it's…it's really good." He lifted up the bread on the small bit of sandwich still remaining. "What's in it? Is that…ham, I think it is?"

"Prosciutto, actually," she clarified. "And buffalo mozzarella."

"With homemade pesto aioli?"

He froze, a string of curses going through his head. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. He could hear the absence of her breath as she waited for him to let her down again. Slowly he raised his eyes to meet hers, and the look on her face when she met his gaze could have killed him.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"It's fine, Fitz," she said, bustling around the kitchen as she cleared off the counter. "I'll take that if you're finished."

He wordlessly crumpled up the remainder of his sandwich and handed her the paper. As he watched her clear the kitchen, he silently vowed to himself that he wouldn't slip up again. Because as much as she pretended to be unaffected, he saw how the hope was destroying her.

It wasn't that he wanted to take the hope away from her. Hell, she deserved to have some hope after all she'd gone through for him. It wasn't even that he wanted to deliberately hide things from her. It was that every time he accidentally finished her sentence, every damn time his brain reflexively gave him words he didn't understand, he had to crush that hope again. He had to see her search his face for the recognition, only to be disappointed time and time again.

No. He wasn't going to do that to her anymore. It wasn't fair to her, and it wasn't fair to the person he used to be. He would have to be careful around her, no doubt, to make sure he didn't do it again. He didn't like it, didn't like any of it.

But sometimes, he told himself, it was just easier to lie.


	12. Chapter 12

Triplett could hear Hunter breathing heavily behind him as they hurried up the steps.

"You're lucky you took one to the arm, mate," he grunted. "Otherwise, it'd be you carrying this guy. Why couldn't we just cuff him again?"

Triplett quickly iced the last remaining sentry in the stairwell. "Trust me," he called over his shoulder. "He's better unconscious."

"Whatever, man. Are we there yet?"

Triplett burst through the door at the top of the stairs, searching the sky for their route of escape. The base was on high alert, mostly due to the deadly brawl in the square, so they only had a short window before additional troops would arrive to secure the scene.

Hunter stumbled over next to him, his face weary from the exhaustion of carrying Ward up ten flights of steps. "Come on, where are they?"

Right on cue, a black helicopter came up over the south edge of the building and settled on the roof. Triplett covered Hunter's back until he was safely in the door, and jumped in after him, accepting the hand of S.H.I.E.L.D. legend Isabelle Hartley.

"They're in," she announced, slamming the door shut behind him just as the rooftop swarmed with troops. May immediately flew the aircraft off of the roof, narrowly escaping the bullets being fired at them.

Hunter was sitting against the wall of the chopper, still trying to catch his breath. "What do you want me to do with this guy?" he asked, pointing to Ward, who was sprawled unceremoniously on his stomach.

"Just hit him with the ICER again if he wakes up," Triplett replied, moving to settle next to May in the cockpit. "Did you set a course for the Playground?"

"Yep. We're gonna have to go the long way to avoid being followed, but we should be there in a few hours."

Triplett nodded before noticing a flash of red on the dashboard. "Hang on, we've got a call coming in."

Almost at once, Coulson's voice came ringing through the cockpit. "Playground to Chopper 6-1-6. Chopper 6-1-6, do you copy?"

Triplett shared a nervous glance with May. "This is Chopper 6-1-6," he answered. "What is it, sir?"

They were met with the sound of static.

"Coulson?" May asked, her knuckles tightening on the controls in front of her.

His voice came in randomly, perforated by the static. "We've been…made…have to…change bases…HYDRA."

"_What?_"

Triplett fiddled with the radio controls, and soon Coulson was coming in clearer. "They came in out of nowhere, showed up on the bridge. They must have been tracking us, or noticed us flying in and out. The Playground's no longer safe."

May leaned closer to the speaker. "Is everyone okay?"

The following silence sent a jolt of panic to Triplett's stomach.

"Phil. _Is everyone okay_?"

They heard Coulson sigh through the comms. "Agent Koenig…didn't make it," he said after a pause. "HYDRA infiltrated the comm room first, but Koenig was able to send us a warning before…" He trailed off, and no one bothered finishing his sentence. The moment weighed heavily in the small space.

"Where to now, sir?" Triplett finally asked.

"Sometimes, in the end, you've gotta return to where you started."

"Got it. See you there," May responded before ending the call.

Triplett looked at her in confusion. "You got that?"

"He means one of Fury's secret bases in New York," she explained. "He didn't want to say it over the airwaves. They call it Homerun."

Triplett might have laughed at the joke, but the echo of Koenig's death still rang in his head.

"You know," Hunter said as he leaned his head forward in between them. "I thought you two were Coulson's pilots. And that guy," he pointed behind him. "Before he betrayed you lot, that is."

"We are," Triplett replied, not sure what Hunter was getting at.

"Then if you're all here," he said, resting his arms on the backs of their seats. "Then who's flying them out?"

Triplett's eyes widened as he looked over at May, but she simply sighed.

"Uh oh."

* * *

Coulson's voice was _way_ too close to her head as they made their descent. "Please don't hurt her, please don't hurt her, please don't hurt her."

"All right, I'm gonna need _quiet_ in the cockpit!" she cried, almost letting go of the controls so she could physically push Coulson back. "God, do you do this to May? Because I think I'm starting to understand why she looks like she wants to murder you all the time."

He didn't seem to hear her, though, instead pointing out the window. "Just…just watch where you're going, all right?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

Skye could still feel the back of Coulson's hand, which was gripping her armrest tightly, and wished for about the trillionth time that he would go away. It was bad enough that she'd had to fly them out with only a few lessons under her belt, but her heart was still pounding from their narrow escape. Thankfully FitzSimmons had already been on the plane. They hadn't had to see the fire. And they hadn't had to see Koenig's lifeless body.

Again.

She carefully pressed a few buttons and pulled on the lever, the Bus shuddering underneath them slightly.

"What was that?" Coulson asked in alarm. "Why is it doing that? What are you doing? Why'd you press the…the thing and the other…thing?"

Skye forced herself not to roll her eyes. "Um…I'm lowering the landing gear, if that's all right with you," she replied, turning to give him a sarcastic smile. "Unless you want the cargo ramp to get completely busted again. Or for the Bus to go up in flames."

He shook his head in complete seriousness. "I don't want that."

"Didn't think so," she smirked, turning back to the controls. Her overconfident façade quickly faded, though, as she began lowering the Bus towards an open clearing.

"Is that big enough?"

"It's gonna have to be."

"Do you know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

"Are you just telling me that so I don't die in a state of panic?"

"Oh, my God, A.C., could you just shut up for, like, one minute please?"

"Because I gotta tell you, that's probably gonna happen anyway."

Skye pursed her lips together, bracing herself for the impact and trying to ignore Coulson's continued mutterings behind her. "Careful…careful…"

The Bus shuddered again as the wheels slid to find purchase in the field. Coulson was thrown over to the side, but his grip on Skye's chair managed to keep him from falling down completely. There were a few troubling creaks and moans, and Skye was pretty sure she'd stopped breathing at one point, but after about twenty seconds they were sitting in silence.

Skye waited for her heart to reach a normal rate before she unfastened her seat belt and turned to Coulson. "Well, that was fun," she smiled.

He simply stared at her for a moment, his face drained of all color. "Yeah, that's never happening ever again," he declared before walking out of the cockpit.

"Oh, come on, A.C.," she called after him. "That was awesome and you know it."

They reconvened in the cargo hold with FitzSimmons, who looked a little shaken but relatively unharmed. Coulson firmly declared that he was driving to the new base, explaining that they'd return for the Bus once they'd gotten settled in.

"You okay?" Skye asked Fitz as they piled into the Short Bus.

"Yeah, yeah," Fitz replied, a little breathlessly. "That was…just…um…"

"Different?"

"Yeah. Different," he nodded, glancing over at Simmons. "Is this really what you all have been doing?"

"It wasn't always like this, Fitz," Simmons said softly. "But ever since HYDRA-"

"HYDRA, yeah," Fitz repeated, and Skye noticed a hint of bitterness in his voice. "Funny how it always seems to come right back to that."

Skye and Simmons shared a concerned glance, but neither of them responded.

They were silent for the remainder of the drive into the city, and as Skye watched their surroundings through the passenger window, she marveled at how different they all were from a year ago. It felt like just yesterday when they'd been on their way to Peru, when the world hadn't been nearly as terrifying as it was now. When Coulson had just been her means of obtaining information from S.H.I.E.L.D. When May had just been an emotionless ninja warrior. When Ward had just been another faceless agent whose trust she had to quietly burrow her way into. When Simmons had been the optimist of the group. When Fitz had avoided any and all situations of potential danger.

Skye blinked furiously, pushing back the tears she felt coming on. If Fitz had been petrified before, after having been involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. for _years_, Skye couldn't even imagine how he was currently faring. But there was one thing she knew for certain.

There was no way in _hell_ he was going to want to stick around with them now.

After about an hour, Coulson turned down one of Brooklyn's quieter streets and pulled up next to the curb. Skye squinted past the glare in the window, trying to see where they'd arrived. But all she could see were a couple bakeries and an antiques store.

"You sure this is the right place?" she asked as she shut the passenger door behind her.

"Yep," he replied, and when he walked by her she saw a spark in his eye she hadn't seen in a long time. She and FitzSimmons collectively paused to look at each other in confusion before they followed after him down the sidewalk. As he pushed the door of the antique store open, a small bell announced their arrival.

Skye looked around the empty room, wondering what on earth was going on. Before she could ask, though, an elderly woman stepped out from the back of the store, moving forward to greet Coulson.

"Wonderful weather this morning," she smiled at them brightly. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," Coulson agreed. "But I always carry an umbrella."

The woman gave him a nod before moving over to the sales desk.

"Okay, what the hell, A.C.?" Skye murmured. "I've literally never seen you carry an umbrella."

Just then, there was a soft click near the back of the store, and the woman motioned for them to follow her.

"It's a protocol directive," Simmons explained from behind her. "You know, countersigns used in order to make sure we can be trusted. S.H.I.E.L.D. has been using them for years, even back in the S.S.R. days."

As they approached the end of the hallway, Skye looked around for signs of life, but all she could see was an old bookcase. The woman pulled out one of the volumes in the third shelf, and with a loud creak they began to swing open.

"Why do I get the feeling protocol directives weren't the only thing S.H.I.E.L.D. kept from the S.S.R. days?" Skye asked, looking over at Coulson. He didn't answer her question, but the small smile on his face told her that there was probably a lot of history in the walls they were about to enter.

She glanced back at the opening before them, and her jaw dropped. The shelves gave way to an enormous hallway, leading back as far as her eye could see. But it was the person standing in the middle of the hallway that left her speechless.

He stepped forward, a wide grin on his face. "Director Coulson, sir, we've been expecting you."

Coulson's voice was small when he responded. "Let me guess. Koenig?"

"Sam Koenig, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he nodded. "I must say, it's an honor to meet you, sir. And I'll be getting you your lanyard shortly." His smile faded as he quickly glanced at Skye and FitzSimmons. "Lanyards for _others_ will be issued out on a case-by-case basis."

Coulson was still staring in bewilderment at Koenig. "There are three of you?"

Koenig chuckled. "I totally understand the confusion, believe me," he replied before his face grew somber. "We were all very sad to hear about Billy."

"He died to warn us about HYDRA," Coulson said quietly. "We made it out because of him."

Koenig nodded, the grin back on his face. "Now, that is some bit of good news, sir." He pointed behind him. "And if you wanna follow me, I think there are some people who are very excited to see you."

Skye trailed along after the group, still in a state of shock. She'd met a set of triplets before, way back at St. Anne's. But there was something off about the Koenig brothers that she couldn't place. She shook her head, dismissing her morbid thoughts. After all, it was hardly normal to come face-to-face with a dead team member's identical twin, let alone have to go through it twice. Skye tried to catch Simmons's gaze, to see if maybe she was weirded out too, but the biochemist was looking around the base in nervous wonderment.

Skye returned her focus forward, and Koenig opened a big set of metal doors to reveal a large two-leveled circular room. They slowly walked up to the railing, overlooking the bottom floor, which was filled with a handful of people. Skye found May and Trip in the throng, but she didn't recognize any of the other agents. The room grew quiet as everyone saw who'd entered.

"About time you showed up," one woman shouted up at them, but she was smirking. "What took you so long?"

Coulson began to walk down the steps. "Sorry we're late. Amateur flying hour."

"How was it?" May asked, glancing at Skye.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Coulson replied.

"It was fine," Skye mumbled, but no one heard her.

Coulson walked up to the woman who'd spoken earlier and shook her hand. "Glad you're here, Izzy," he said with a smile.

"And miss the chance to kick ass with you two again? No way."

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Even if it means not being friends with the government?"

"Eh, I was never really friends with the government in the first place," Izzy shrugged before turning to say something to one of the other agents.

In spite of everything that had happened, Skye found herself smiling. "It's official, A.C. You have chemistry with everyone."

He smirked over at her. "What can I say? It's a gift," he said simply.

As he walked over to Trip, May edged closer to Skye. "Not everyone," she muttered before following after him, and even though Skye didn't know the back-story, she had a feeling she knew what May meant.

"Did you get him?" Coulson was asking Trip.

Trip nodded. "Yes, sir. He's in the brig."

"And Talbot?"

"Dead," May replied, sending a chill down Skye's spine.

Coulson accepted the news without surprise. "All right, I want round-the-clock guard rotation in there. We'll split it up into four-hour shifts. For now, it'll be me, Koenig, May, Trip, and Izzy. Whatever you do, you are not to speak in front of the prisoner or engage him in conversation in any way." He spun around the room. "That goes for everyone."

Skye stepped forward. "You can put me in the rotation, Coulson."

"Me too, sir," Simmons spoke up from behind her.

Coulson only glanced at them for a second. "No."

"But-"

One of the other agents raised a hand. "Sir, what exactly are the rest of us supposed to be doing?"

All at once, the room exploded as various agents began asking their questions. "Yeah, we're running on empty here. We've got next to no resources, barely any comms-"

"HYDRA found the Playground. Who's to say they won't be able to find this place?"

"It's been months, and we're no closer to being trusted now than we were before. How are we supposed to-"

Coulson gave a brief nod to May, who stepped up onto one of the desks and folded her arms. She didn't even say anything, but the sight of the Cavalry glaring at them made everyone fall silent.

"Let me be clear," Coulson spoke out in a loud voice. "No one here holds any obligation to me, or to S.H.I.E.L.D. If you stay, you'll be welcome. If you think it's too much, or if you want to leave, then leave." He let his words sink in for a moment before continuing. "But for those of you who are staying…I need you to be sure. Because right now, this is the make-or-break moment. The enemy has the advantage. But we have to fight on for those we've lost," he said, glancing briefly at Koenig. "So the sacrifices they made were not made in vain. And then…we'll disappear, become ghosts. That's how we have to live now, in the shadows…to protect the innocent, to save lives, even when they don't know it. That's the S.H.I.E.L.D. I stand with. So the question you need to ask yourself is…do _you_ stand with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

His question hung poignantly in the air, and Skye could see in the faces around her that she wasn't the only one moved by his speech.

One of the agents near the back spoke up. "We're all here by choice, sir. We'll follow your lead."

"That's what I like to hear," Coulson replied. "All right, we'll reconvene in the morning and delegate tasks. Um…" he glanced around the room, looking a little uncertain. "Dismissed."

As the room mostly dispersed, Coulson turned around, looking at someone over Skye's shoulder. "Fitz, I apologize for all of this. We'll get you home as soon as we can."

"Actually, sir," Fitz said, taking a step forward. "If it's all right with you, I was wondering if I might stay on a bit longer."

Skye's eyes widened, and she noticed Simmons nearly give herself whiplash as she turned her head to look at Fitz.

"Really?" Coulson asked skeptically.

Fitz glanced around the small group still remaining, looking uncomfortable under the sudden attention they were giving him. "Well…well, that's what I would have done before…isn't it?" he asked with uncertainty, probably hoping for some kind of confirmation.

They all continued to stare at him speechlessly. It must have been the close call earlier because Skye couldn't stop herself from walking over and wrapping her arms around him. "Oh," he said with some surprise, awkwardly patting her back. She laughed and pulled away, stepping over towards Simmons as he continued talking to Coulson. "Anyways...if I can be of help, sir…I'd like to help."

"You're welcome to stay as long as you want, Fitz," Coulson replied, but Skye could tell that he wary about the situation. "We'd hate to see you go. Are you sure you're up for it, though?"

When Fitz spoke again, Skye was surprised to hear a small tremor in his voice. "That man…that man died back there," he said, looking around at all of them a little incredulously, like it was crazy for them to not be more affected by Koenig's death. "But…it could've been any of us." Skye saw Simmons almost unconsciously move closer to Fitz, and even though Fitz hadn't appeared to notice, he seemed to calm down. "And like you said, sir, there are other innocent people out there that need help."

Skye saw the panic go through Coulson's eyes again. "You want to go on missions?"

Fitz nodded. "With your permission, sir."

"I'm not sure-"

Trip stepped closer to the group. "Maybe we can give him a trial period, sir," he reasoned. "You know, let him see if it's something he'd actually want to do. We could all keep an eye on him. I don't think he'd even have to leave the Bus."

Coulson hesitated again, and Skye could tell that even though he wanted Fitz to stay just as much as the rest of them, he didn't want to put him in an unsafe position. "Simmons?" he asked. "What do you think?"

Skye had been watching Simmons carefully, who'd been staring at Fitz for the past few minutes as if she were trying to figure something out. "It could be dangerous, Fitz," she told him quietly.

Fitz turned to look at her. "Wasn't it you that wanted to join Coulson's team in the first place?"

He hadn't said it unkindly, but a look of guilt still passed over her face. "Yes," she finally admitted.

He was still looking at her in the way he only ever looked at Simmons, and for a split second Skye could have sworn everything was normal between them. "Then don't you think we should stick with what we set out to do?" he asked.

She held his gaze for another few seconds before taking a breath. "If it gets too hairy-"

"I'll back off," he assured her. "Promise."

Simmons seemed to search his face for a moment longer, but she eventually turned to Coulson and gave him a nod.

"All right," Coulson conceded, and though he was smiling slightly he still didn't seem completely sold on the idea. "Next mission comes along, FitzSimmons are welcome aboard."

"Hey," Fitz said, his face dawning with new realization. "That's…huh."

"What?" Simmons asked.

"He just…well, the way he just…put our names together like that," he mused. "Interesting."

For the first time since they'd arrived at the new base, Skye saw Simmons smile, even though her eyes were still sad.

"Looks like you might get your chance soon, kid," Izzy spoke up from the corner of the room, where a group of laptops were set up in front of a wall-to-wall screen. "We're getting some kind of signal, could be a distress call."

Coulson and Skye walked over to the controls. "Where's it coming from?" Coulson asked.

Izzy hit a few keys, and the map on the screen zeroed in on a red dot. "Somewhere off the coast of Florida."

Coulson glanced over at Skye, probably also wondering if it was the same signal they'd been getting at the Playground. "Answer it," he ordered.

Almost immediately, a strangely familiar voice came in through the speakers. "Hello? Can anyone hear me?" Izzy pressed another key, and a video feed materialized on the screen. "Oh, thank God. I've been trying to reach you guys for forever. Why haven't you been picking up?"

The group stood in stunned silence, staring at the face on the screen, a face Skye could have gladly gone without seeing for the rest of her life. His hair was disheveled, and his normally crisp shirt looked as if it hadn't been changed in a long time. But it was unmistakably him.

"_Quinn?_"

* * *

**A/N**: Homerun is actually the name of one of Fury's secret bases, so that was not one of my creations. And since it's in New York, I thought it would be cool if it was actually the secret S.S.R. location in Brooklyn that Peggy took Steve to in The First Avenger. (The protocol directive Coulson uses is literally the same exact protocol directive as the one Peggy uses in the film.) Also, the giant two-leveled circular room is the one in which Steve underwent the serum treatment to become Captain America. Just thought I'd put a little note in here, since my own sister didn't seem to pick up on the connections.


	13. Chapter 13

May had been angry beforehand, mostly due to all the trouble HYDRA had caused them over the past 24 hours. But even if she hadn't been, seeing Ian Quinn's face on the screen in front of her would have been enough to make her absolutely livid.

"End the call," Coulson ordered, not bothering to listen to Quinn's spiel.

"But-"

"End the call _now_."

Skye's hand hovered over the button hesitantly, the sudden appearance of Quinn probably making it difficult for her to think straight.

"Now, just wait a second, Coulson," Quinn was saying, his eyes widening as Coulson stepped towards the controls. "Don't-"

But Coulson pressed his finger down firmly on the button, and the video feed on the screen disappeared. Quinn's last word echoed throughout the room as they all tried to process what had just happened.

Izzy was the one to break the silence. "Was that who I thought it was?"

Coulson ignored her as he continued to stare at the screen, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Can you trace it?" he asked Skye quietly.

"I might've been able to," Skye replied, and when she turned her head to Coulson, she looked more pissed off than shaken. "If we'd kept him on the line for more than two seconds."

Coulson glanced over at May, visibly as surprised with Skye's tone as she felt. "Are you crazy?" he asked, looking at her in bewilderment. "It was a trap."

Skye shook her head. "I'm not so sure," she said, leaning back in her chair and looking at the currently empty screen. "I mean, did you see him? I've never seen him look that…untidy."

Coulson's eyes scanned the room, as if he was checking to make sure he wasn't the only one who thought Skye's comments were weird. "What are you getting at?"

"Look, all I'm saying is he looked…scared," she noted, swiveling her chair to face them. "And he _has_ been trying to reach us for a while."

There was a brief pause as Coulson stared at her with wide eyes. "He shot you!" he finally cried, like she needed to be reminded.

Skye rolled her eyes. "Okay, yes, he's a Level-10 tool bag," she admitted. "But when is the last time Ian Quinn has _ever_ asked for help from S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Coulson's face hadn't changed, his scrunched-up expression still showing how completely mystified he was. "Um, I don't know," he replied sarcastically. "Right now I'm a little more concerned with the troubling fact that the last we heard of him, he was working with _HYDRA_."

Skye shook her head again. "He wasn't at Cybertek when we got there," she pointed out. "He _abandoned_ Garrett and took off."

"Yeah, to save his own skin!"

"Maybe," she nodded. "_Or_…maybe working with Garrett was just a means to an end the whole time." She glanced around at the rest of them. "I mean, Quinn's a businessman, right? He's been working the system for _years_. He knows _exactly_ how to acquire the assets he needs to get what he wants." She rolled her eyes again at their confused faces. "Ward and Garrett raided the Fridge, remember? And what is the _one thing_ in the world Quinn would risk his ass to protect?"

Simmons spoke up quietly from behind May. "The gravitonium."

"Bingo," Skye replied, looking proud that they'd finally caught up with her thought process.

Coulson turned his attention back to the blank screen, his wary expression transferring from Skye to what her words had implied. "You think he's messing with it again?"

"I don't know," she sighed, shaking her head. "But if it's anything like last time, he could potentially hurt a lot of people. And if he's calling _us_? He must be pretty damn desperate."

"Or...it's a trap."

"No, I don't buy it," she said. "Quinn would never go that long without washing his hair, even for a con. He's too OCD, not to mention totally full of himself."

Coulson briefly closed his eyes and rested a couple fingertips on his temple. "What do you suggest, Agent Skye?" he sighed heavily.

Skye shrugged. "Hear him out?"

Coulson's eyes whipped open again. "Did you miss the part where he shot you? Twice?"

"I said hear him out, not…invite him to dinner," she explained. "I still hate him, okay?" Her eyes flicked back to the map. "But something smells fishy here. And not just because he's calling us from the Caribbean." She smiled a little at her own joke, but it quickly faded. "Besides," she continued. "Guy like that belongs behind bars, don't you think?"

May could see Coulson having an internal argument with himself as he undoubtedly tried to find a good-enough reason to refuse her. He eventually gave in, though. "Fine," he said in a tight voice. "If he calls again, reroute it to a secure channel. But don't answer it alone. Make sure I'm there. Got it?"

Skye nodded, looking like she was trying not to appear too satisfied. "Got it."

Coulson sighed again before turning around to make his way towards the stairs. May matched his stride and smirked over at him. "She's getting better at talking you into things."

"I know," he replied, his blanched face telling her he was most certainly not amused. "I don't like it."

* * *

Triplett rubbed his eyelids in exhaustion, trying to find his way to Homerun's lab. He'd just gotten off of what had felt like the longest shift of his life. Ward had still been passed out when Triplett had traded spots with May, so thankfully he hadn't had to do anything but watch the bastard. But the strain of having been awake for nearly two days straight was starting to get to him.

He found the lab without too much trouble, and made his way to the back, where FitzSimmons and Skye were all working quietly. Fitz briefly looked up from the bot he was examining. "Hey, man," he murmured, returning his attention to the device. "Everything all right out there?"

Triplett nodded, leaning against the table. "Yeah, it's nice to have a few more people around."

"Sure, sure."

Triplett looked over at Simmons, who was studiously observing something through a microscope, an array of test tubes and pipets surrounding her. "Hey," Triplett said quietly, hoping she could spare him a minute. "Simmons?"

"What?" she mumbled distractedly before her gaze flicked over to his face. She sighed as she removed her gloves. "What did you do?"

He tried to stand up straighter, to assure her that it wasn't anything serious. "Nothing," he insisted, but she continued to look at him expectantly until he told her the truth. "My…arm might have gotten hit by that guy earlier after he absorbed the ICER bullets."

Her expression was still stern, but her eyes softened a little. "Sit down," she said wearily, walking over to one of the fridges at the side of the lab.

Skye pulled her attention away from the laptop in front of her. "Hang on, weren't you running point when you got Ward out?" she asked him.

"Yeah, why?" he answered, sitting down on one of the lab stools as Simmons came back with her supplies.

"You're right-handed," Skye pointed out, a strange flash of worry in her eyes. "How were you gonna shoot with a numb arm?"

"You see, Skye," Triplett replied patiently. "Like most people, I'm fortunate enough to have two of them."

She rolled her eyes in annoyance, but she was grinning, looking impressed. "I gotta say, that's pretty badass." He gave her an appreciative smile, only to see that her amusement had disappeared. "But you're an idiot."

"Hey, he's here, isn't he?" Triplett reasoned. "And we're all fine. So I don't know what you're complaining about."

He expected her to argue with him, but she had her arms folded and seemed to be deep in thought. "I wish we knew more about him," she said. "You know, the random mini Hulk you guys ran into on the base. He sounds like he should've been on the Index."

"What was it you said they called him again?" Fitz asked without looking up. "The Absorbing Man?"

"It's incredible," Simmons remarked as she measured something out in a beaker. "I've never heard of anything like it. He must've been exposed to a very rare and highly unstable chemical reaction at that plant. To be able to change his physical attributes so drastically through something as common as touch? It's-"

"Bloody terrifying, is what it is," Fitz muttered.

"Like I said," Skye quipped. "Perfect Index material."

Simmons filled a syringe with the compound she'd prepared and carefully injected it into Triplett's right arm. "There," she said as she removed the needle. "That should do it. You should start to feel something in about ten minutes."

"Thanks," he told her sincerely. She gave him a tight smile and went back to her station, switching her gloves out for new ones. "What are you working on?"

"Oh," she responded in a high voice, avoiding his eyes. "I'm…I'm just trying to get a head-start on replenishing our serum and antiserum supply," she said, and even though he knew she was probably answering truthfully, her behavior told him that she was hiding something. "I had some things on the Bus," she continued. "But most of what S.H.I.E.L.D. had left was at the Hub."

Her eyes were dutifully trained on the pipet in front of her, but she seemed to pick up on the new anxiety in the room. "Don't worry," she assured them. "All S.H.I.E.L.D. labs are set to self-destruct if anyone unauthorized attempts to access them."

Triplett glanced over at Skye, and knew she was thinking the same thing he was. "Yeah, but HYDRA had moles everywhere."

Simmons's hands stilled for a fraction of a second before she continued working. "You're right," she said quietly. "Maybe we should worry." She set down her pipet and breathed in sharply. "In any case, we've lost a lot of valuable material. But at least Skye was able to get me the formulas from the records at SciOps."

"You're welcome."

"Now I don't have to start from scratch," she explained as she began labeling a set of glass jars. "My supplies are dwindling, though."

"You'll find a way to make it work," Triplett told her. "You always do."

She gave him a smile, and there was a brief pause before the lab suddenly echoed with the sound of a small crash.

"Sorry," Fitz mumbled, picking up the bot that had fallen onto the table.

"Oh, Fitz," Simmons admonished him. "The Retrievers don't work like that-"

"I've got it-"

"You have to account for-"

"I said I've got it," Fitz said loudly, avoiding all of their eyes. "Okay?"

"But-"

"Look, I designed it, didn't I?" he asked, and Simmons fell silent at his angry tone. "I can figure it out on my own." Before any of them had the chance to respond, he grabbed the Golden Retrievers case and stormed out of the lab, leaving them all in silence.

Skye's mouth was open in shock. "What the hell was that about?"

"He's probably just having a rough time adjusting," Triplett guessed. "The guy's been through a lot." Simmons had her eyes focused on the microscope, but he knew she wasn't really seeing what was in front of her. He glanced down at his arm, testing out his fingers as he started to regain feeling in them.

"We all have," he added quietly.

* * *

He woke up in darkness, his muscles on fire. For a good hour he didn't even try to move, choosing to simply lie there on the concrete and wait for his head to stop pounding. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he tried to remember what had happened before he'd been knocked out. There'd been a commotion, far off in another part of the prison. And then Trip had been there, along with another agent Ward had only vaguely recognized. He hadn't even gotten a word out before Trip had raised his ICER and fired, sending Ward into blissful unconsciousness.

The bliss was gone now, replaced by a searing headache and the sensation of what he imagined felt like getting run over by a truck. Maybe he had gotten run over by a truck. He had no idea.

So S.H.I.E.L.D. had found him, or…what was left of S.H.I.E.L.D. had found him. He wasn't that surprised. As long as they had Skye, there were really not a lot of places he could hide. What surprised him was why they'd waited so long to find him in the first place. After Cybertek, they'd handed him off to the authorities without a backward glance, letting the courts decide his fate. And even though Coulson had sent his own version of care packages, Ward had assumed that that was the end of it. That he wasn't worth their time or energy anymore.

Not that all of that probably still wasn't true. They must have found out about Talbot. That was the only logical explanation.

Because God forbid he get the easy way out.

Eventually, Ward started to flex his muscles, his growling stomach telling him that he'd probably been out for a couple days. Various shapes around him began to come into focus. There was some kind of cot positioned next to him on the back wall, and over in the corner was a simple lavatory. The rest of the cell was bare, not even a grated window adorning the walls.

He groaned quietly as he tried to sit up, the effects of the dendrotoxin still pulsing through his body. When he turned his head, his gaze falling on the space outside of the cell, he nearly jumped out of his skin, though he tried to hide it as much as possible.

He should've known she'd be the one they'd send to interrogate him. After all, not only did she have the intimidation factor as the Cavalry, she also had an intimate history with him, and knew probably better than anyone which buttons to push to get the information they needed. May stood behind the bars, staring at him stonily with her arms folded over her chest. He waited for her to start, to ask him about Talbot or to open the door and beat him senselessly into the ground. It's what she wanted to do, he could tell. He sat up against the cot, mentally preparing himself for the oncoming assault.

It never came.

She simply stood there, unmoving, as still as a statue. She didn't say anything, didn't change her expression, didn't even acknowledge his presence beyond keeping her eyes fixed on his face. At one point, he could've sworn she'd even stopped blinking. It was an entirely plausible scenario. He'd never been able to beat her in a staring contest.

Fine. If that was how she wanted to play, he had no problem following suit. She could stare at him for hours for all he cared. But he wasn't going to talk first.

The seconds ticked by in his head, his only source of confirmation that any time was passing. And still, even after two and half hours, May hadn't moved. When he reached 9,432 seconds, the door to an outer hall opened. Ward's eyes were blinded momentarily by the fluorescent light streaming into the cell, but it didn't take him long to recognize his former superior officer.

Coulson and May didn't exchange words as they traded spots, but Ward saw May rest her hand on his elbow in passing. It was a fleeting touch, no more than a moment, and then Ward and Coulson were alone.

He clenched his jaw together, waiting for the onslaught. It'd been at least two months since they'd seen each other, and if Ward knew anything about Coulson, he knew that the hardened agent would have a few choice words for him. He'd probably rehearsed them for weeks, long platitudes about justice or honor or whatever else he thought Ward lacked.

But, like May, Coulson was a motionless visitor, choosing to endure his shift in cold silence. His toughened gaze was not as easy for Ward to match, and so he found himself looking at the floor instead. He'd been expecting anger, disappointment, hatred. These things he knew. These things he understood. But Coulson's face didn't express any of those things. His face was a blank, unmoved by Ward's presence.

As if he wasn't there at all.

After a while it became clear that Coulson wasn't going to talk first either. But surely he knew Ward had been trained better than that, right? And not even by Garrett, but by S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson himself had been trained to withstand interrogation by the same system that had trained Ward. So why was he prolonging what he knew was never going to work?

Unless that was the point. To confuse him. To unsettle him. To put him so on edge from the silence that when they finally sent her in (because of course they'd send her in, she was probably their secret weapon by now), he would break.

And as much as he told himself he could handle it, he wasn't entirely certain that he could.

When Coulson handed off the reigns, though, it wasn't to Skye but rather to S.H.I.E.L.D. veteran Isabelle Hartley. And as Hartley sat quietly outside of his cell, her legs up on another chair as she disassembled and cleaned a rifle, Ward realized that he wasn't going to be interrogated. They'd stuck him in a cell and drew up a guard rotation and that was it. He had nothing to offer them, no information they didn't already have. He was only a liability now, locked up for everyone's safety. And there he would remain until they had use for him, which, if he had to take a guess, would never happen.

He memorized the rotation easily, and soon became used to the constant presence outside of his cell. The roster was small, indicating Coulson probably didn't have a long list of people he trusted in a room with him. Koenig had been a surprise, but only for a few seconds, until Ward remembered how Skye had mentioned he'd had a brother. It was a little unsettling, though, to be stared down by the twin of someone he'd killed.

About once a day someone slid food into his cell, but like at Grissom, that was the only source of human interaction he received. The rest of the time he was essentially alone. No television screen, no footage being ingrained into his mind. Just one lone sentry outside of his cell and a daily delivery of meatloaf. Sometimes when the voices in his head became too much he did pushups until he couldn't feel his arms anymore. But most of the time, he sat in silence. Not waiting, because what was there to wait for? Not planning his escape, because where would he go?

In that cell, he simply existed. Like a ghost in the shadows. There but invisible.

And so when someone new finally did come to his cell one night, a few days after he'd arrived, he didn't know how to respond. Because the first person to talk to him after all that time...ended up being the last person he'd expected.

* * *

She woke up in a sweat, her fists clenched tightly in the sheets until her terror faded and she realized where she was. She waited until her pulse returned to normal before slowly leaning back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands in a feeble attempt to stop the tears.

It had felt so real, the nightmare she'd had. It wasn't the usual one, the one that had haunted her dreams back at the Playground, the one she'd so desperately wanted to forget. In those dreams, she'd had to endure the fear of losing him almost every night, only to awaken and find that she'd lost him anyway. This nightmare was one she hadn't had in a while, but the events were still seared into her memory. The sensation of falling. Falling so far. His face before she'd jumped. The agony in his voice when he'd shouted her name. The familiarity in his eyes that had begged her to stay.

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a soft knock on the door. She quickly wiped away her tears and hurried to open it, fear of another HYDRA attack coursing through her veins. But when she pulled on the handle, she was surprised to see a nervous Fitz standing outside of her room.

"I'm sorry," he said, his face turning red as he took in her frazzled appearance. "I was just out for a walk and I heard yelling, and I just-"

"It's all right, Fitz," she interrupted him, feeling a blush on her own cheeks. "It was just a dream. I'm sorry to have startled you."

"No, no, I'm…I'm glad you're okay," he stammered, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Well, um…good night, then, I guess," he said with a smile, meeting her eyes for only a second before walking away.

"Good night, Fitz," she whispered after him, closing the door quietly.

And that was it. Polite. Civil. As if she was just an acquaintance, or another team member. As if all she'd ever be was just an acquaintance or a team member. Nothing like the look in his eyes when she'd jumped. Nothing like the fervor in his voice when he'd given her the oxygen mask. Nothing like the years she'd spent next to him, memorizing his speech, his mannerisms, his attitude, to the point where she hadn't known where he ended and she began.

It was such a drastic difference, the Fitz she remembered and the Fitz that had just stood in front of her moments before. She cursed her subconscious for making her remember, and remember so vividly, when Fitz would never be the Fitz she knew again.

Because it'd been two months, hadn't it? Jemma wasn't an idiot. She knew it was unrealistic to hope.

So how could she still find herself holding on to the tiniest sliver of hope?

She knew the answer, and hated it. It was because every time she closed her eyes, he was there. Telling her they could fix it, together. Finding a way for her to live, even if it meant without him.

Giving her hope.

Jemma was sick of it.

Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself out of bed again, dressing slowly in the darkness. And as she crept quietly down the hall, making only a short stop at one of the base's kitchens, she didn't question where her legs were taking her. She was calm, calmer than she'd been in weeks. She didn't even worry about running into anyone, because her brain had subconsciously timed everything perfectly. The plan was there, the plan had always been there, deep down. All she had to do now was follow through.

"Well, isn't it a little late for you to be up, Agent Simmons?" Koenig asked as she entered the hallway and approached the chair he was stationed in.

"Couldn't sleep," she smiled apologetically. "I finally decided to just throw in the towel and try to get some work done." She gestured to the two mugs she was holding in her hands. "I made some tea just now. It's an old recipe my mum used to make for me when I was younger and stayed up late doing homework. But, silly me, I made too much, and I thought I'd come see if you'd care for any."

Jemma could hear her heart hammering loudly in her chest, but Koenig's face broke into a grin. "Well, aren't you just a sweetheart?" he said, accepting the mug she handed him. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said brightly. "You have a nice night, now."

"Likewise," he nodded, taking a sip out of the mug as she continued on down the hall. "Mmm. Tell your mom this is some pretty darn good tea," he called after her.

"Absolutely," she whispered, turning the corner and leaning up against the wall. She only had to wait about a minute before she heard the soft clatter. She quickly raced back down the corridor, taking a few seconds to position the tea mug in Koenig's hands before slipping silently into the dark room.

She didn't look at him, not at first. She just stood there in the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust, the only light coming from the small window in the door. The room was quiet, nothing but the sound of Homerun's generators humming near the walls. When she could finally make out what was behind the bars, she almost felt a pang of disappointment. But he wasn't really sleeping, like she'd thought. And if she hadn't known better, she would've said he even looked surprised to see her.

Slowly, methodically, she reached into her bag and pulled out her supplies, taking her time as she loaded up the dosage she'd calculated earlier. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him lean slightly forward, his muscles tensed.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper.

"Don't talk," she ordered, surprised to hear how calmly firm she sounded. Her hands stopped moving as she met his eyes, and she could tell he knew how serious she was. "You don't get to do that," she continued, turning back to what she was doing. "Not anymore."

When everything was almost ready, she saw his shoulders relax. "You're not gonna kill me, Simmons."

"Oh, that's a fact, is it?" she snapped, slowly taking a step closer to the bars. "Got me all figured out, have you? The young, inexperienced scientist who can't lie to save her life and didn't pass her field assessment? That sound about right?" Her voice was getting too high, she knew that. But the words were pouring out of her as if they were poison she needed to get out of her system. "Your logical conclusion, based upon that careful observation, would obviously be that I present no threat to you."

His eyes flicked between her face and the weapon in her hands. "Simmons…"

"Well, I suppose you're right," she laughed, glancing down at the gun. "I'm not going to kill you." After a pause she waved the weapon in front of her, and it almost gave her gleeful pleasure to see the nervous twitch in his jaw. "You've heard of the QNB-T16, correct? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you have."

"The truth serum's a myth," he replied evenly, but his eyes kept returning to the barrel aimed in his direction. "It doesn't exist."

"Oh, I know it doesn't," she said, inwardly cringing at how she was sounding. What the bloody hell was wrong with her? Why was she talking like some kind of deranged lunatic? For some reason, though, she couldn't stop. "But you know what does exist?" she continued, pausing just long enough to heighten the suspense. "QNB-T17."

He didn't respond, but she saw the brief moment of panic in his eyes. "Huh," she smiled triumphantly. "Didn't expect that one, did you? But you're thinking about it, I can tell, and you know it makes sense."

She began to pace in front of the bars, holding the gun carefully in her grasp. "Some feelings will take over if you dwell on them," she recited slowly. "One in particular, actually. Do you know which one that is?"

He remained silent, staring at her with an expression she couldn't quite read. Her finger hovered around the trigger. "You'll have to talk a bit more loudly, I didn't quite catch that."

His face didn't change. "Fear," he finally said.

"Oh, so you _do_ remember," she smiled. "That's fantastic, I'm so pleased your memory is in working order. Because it _was_ you who taught me that. And you were absolutely right. Fear is a funny thing, after all. Funny in the way it takes over. Funny in the way it haunts you, even in your sleep." She looked down at the gun again. "Funny how you can add just the right amount of corticotropin-releasing hormone to a little bit of dendrotoxin…and suddenly you're paralyzed with no one there to help you as you lie awake, tormented by that which you fear most." In the back of her mind, she knew she was crossing a line, or had maybe already crossed it. But right there, in that cell, at that moment, she didn't care. "Much more effective than a truth serum, don't you think?"

When she looked back up at him, Ward seemed to have reached an inner decision. "What do you want?" he asked quietly.

It was like he'd touched an exposed nerve. "What do…what do _I _want?" she repeated, her voice reaching an unnaturally high pitch. "You know, that's another funny thing. Because I don't remember you _caring_ about what _I_ wanted when you tossed me off an airplane!"

His eyes widened as he noticed her shaking hands. "Simmons…"

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. "Why?" she whispered.

"What?"

"Why'd you do it?"

He sighed. "I was under orders."

"Oh, please," she rolled her eyes. "That's not what I was talking about."

Ward was shaking his head. "I don't-"

She stifled a groan, simultaneously losing the last bit of her patience with him and upset with herself that she wasn't making any sense. "Why did you _save me_?"

And with those words she saw that he understood. If she'd been less smart, she would've thought he looked sad when he responded. "To gain your trust."

She tightened her grip on the tranquillizer gun. "No, I don't believe you," she said, failing to keep her voice calm. "You…you could have just let me die."

He looked like he was about to interrupt her, but she didn't let him. "No, it doesn't make sense, all right? By having the virus, I posed a threat to everyone, _including you_. But you couldn't have killed me directly, because that would have been too obvious. So _why didn't you just let me die_? You would've lived, and so would've everyone else. And no one, _no one_ would have blamed you."

She knew what he was going to say, even before he said it. "Fitz would've."

"Don't you dare," she whispered furiously.

"I'm just saying-"

"Don't you _dare_ bring him up," she repeated, more loudly this time. "You know, he was the _one person_ who vouched for you, even after all you'd done. And now? He's not the same, he'll never be the same." She was crying now, and she hated it, she hated it, she hated it. She hated her weakness, but her words spilled out anyways. "All right? And _you_ did that. You did that to him. You should consider yourself lucky he doesn't remember you, you bastard."

Through her tears, she saw his face go still. "He…he doesn't remember?" he asked in a tone of quiet surprise.

"Oh, don't act like you care all of a sudden," she spat, angrily brushing her tears away before returning her grip to the gun. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

He didn't argue with her.

"Well, look where that got you," she continued. "Alone, with the people you betrayed, and no one coming to save you. You know, I used to think you were a hero," she laughed bitterly. "Strong and brave. But you were never a hero, were you? Just a coward."

His eyes were on the gun in her hands again, but he didn't look scared anymore.

"Fitz is more of a hero than you could ever hope to be," she went on, cursing her shaking hands.

"So go ahead," he said quietly.

Jemma was thrown. "What?"

He nodded to the gun in her hands. "Do it."

She didn't know what to do. In all of the scenarios she'd played out in her head, in not one of them had Ward actually consented to the fear serum. But she couldn't back down now. She owed it Fitz. Hell, she owed it to herself. Ward had tried to kill her too.

But the longer she aimed the gun at his chest, the longer he stared at her in anticipation, the longer her finger hovered on the trigger, the more she began to realize that she couldn't do it.

She couldn't do it.

Just then, she heard the door creak open behind her. Her hands continued to shake as she kept the gun trained on Ward.

"Jemma…" she heard Coulson say.

She shook her head, the tears rolling down her face, but she couldn't speak. Coulson gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jemma…" he repeated, willing her to look at him. "He's not worth it."

His words cut through to her core, shaking her out of the mindset she'd been in. She glanced down at her hands in horror, and Coulson gently pried the gun out of her fingers. And when she followed him out of the room, she didn't look back.


	14. Chapter 14

The fluorescent bulbs in the corridor ceiling felt like a spotlight on Jemma as she exited the room, sending her nerves into overdrive. She was cold, freezing actually, and couldn't stop her hands from shaking. It had all felt like a bad dream, but she could taste the salt of her tears and feel the burn in her throat and knew it had been real. And as she glanced from Coulson, who was simply staring at the tranquillizer gun he'd taken from her, to Koenig, still fast asleep in his chair, she suddenly felt as though she were going to vomit.

What the hell had she almost done?

What the hell had she _actually_ done?

She had to fix it. She knew she had to fix it, because it was her fault. It was her responsibility. But she was frozen, unable to step forward, not only because she was horrified but also because she was scared that Coulson would back away from her.

She finally opened her mouth to speak. "Sir, I-"

"I'll take care of it, Simmons," he said quietly, and she saw the sadness in his eyes when he looked up at her. "Why don't you go get some rest?"

Jemma pressed her lips together tightly to keep from trembling, and after a pause gave him a nod. She left him standing there, still staring at the gun in his hands, and raced off to her room, where she silently sobbed herself to sleep.

And for the rest of their time together, she and Coulson never spoke of that night again.

* * *

When May entered the comm/sat room one morning, Skye was eating a bowl of cereal, both legs propped up on the table in front of her. She was flipping through a series of maps on the screen, explaining something to Coulson, whose eyelids were drooping as he struggled to pay attention.

Neither of them noticed May until she spoke. "Any updates?" she asked, hiding a smile as Coulson nearly fell out of his chair.

Skye shook her head while she finished another bite of her cereal. "No, HYDRA jumped ship again." She switched to a screen showing satellite images of the military base they'd gotten Ward out of. "There's no sign of them at Grissom anymore, which means they probably found another evil lair somewhere else. Hooray."

May had suspected as much, but even though it wasn't the greatest news, she was thankful HYDRA wasn't presenting an imminent threat to them. They needed time to get their bearings together, and that was never going to happen with HYDRA chasing them out of every remaining S.H.I.E.L.D. base. "And Talbot?"

Skye set her empty bowl on the table next to her laptop and leaned back again. "Funeral was last week. At Arlington," she replied with an annoyed smile.

Coulson scoffed. "Let me guess. Buried with full military honors?"

"Oh, of course," Skye said sarcastically. "Couldn't have him getting what he deserved."

May wasn't smiling. "He's dead," she pointed out in a quiet voice. "That funeral wasn't for him."

Skye glanced away from her, probably feeling awkward by the sudden tension in the room. But Coulson met her gaze, and for a brief moment she saw the echo of a little boy who'd lost his father in his eyes. He knew just as well as she did that funerals were for the living.

For those left behind.

"What about Ward?" May asked, deciding to change the subject.

Skye had been doing a lot better recently, but May still saw her freeze for a moment before looking at her in confusion. "What about him?"

"Is HYDRA gonna come looking for him?"

"No, I don't think so," she answered, swiveling back and forth in her chair. "He's not in the system, and Talbot had him in isolation. So either they were keeping him locked up because they realized he's a cold-blooded serial killer and belongs behind bars for the rest of his life, _or_…if we're being real here, Talbot was probably gonna use him to do some dirty work on the DL." She turned back to her laptop. "Good thing we got him out of there before that happened," she muttered. "Otherwise, who knows where the hell he'd be right now?"

May and Coulson glanced at each other, and she could tell that he didn't know how to respond either. But Skye was already thinking about something else. "Listen, since you're both here," she said, looking over May's shoulder towards the door. "I wanted to talk to you about something." She leaned forward, lowering her voice. "It's about-"

Her sentence was cut off by the sound of rapid beeping coming from the main screen, and the map began zooming in on a flashing red dot.

"It's him," she declared, quickly opening up a program on her laptop.

"Quinn?" Coulson asked, standing up.

"Yup," Skye muttered, typing faster than May had ever seen anyone type. "Rerouting to a secure channel…disabling any tracking devices from outside sources…recording visual and audio…and…you ready, A.C.?" she asked, looking up at him for permission.

He rested one fist on the table as his other hand tightly gripped the back of her chair, and gave her a small nod. May walked up to stand on Skye's opposite side, out of the line of the camera but close enough to see what was going on.

The video buzzed with static before coming into focus on Quinn's face, which somehow looked more disheveled than it had before. "Don't hang up, don't hang up," he pleaded, leaning close to the screen. "Please, okay? I'm begging you, just…just stay on the line."

"You've got a lot of nerve calling us, Quinn," Coulson answered, cutting to the chase. "What do you want?"

"Look, I know, all right?" he replied, glancing behind him every few seconds. "You've got no reason to trust me. But I didn't know who else to call. I-It's out of my control."

Coulson's face was white. "The gravitonium?" he asked.

Quinn laughed, but it was an unhinged kind of sound, and it did nothing to alleviate May's anxiety. "Oh, no," he chuckled. "The gravitonium is gone."

"What do you mean, _gone_?"

"I couldn't explain even if I wanted to," Quinn assured them. "Look, I don't have much time, okay? He's gonna figure out something's up if I'm gone too long. But you've gotta come out here, Coulson, or send someone, or…just do _something_, all right? I…I can't control him. He's a maniac!"

Coulson's face showed little sympathy or patience for the man on the other end. "_Who_ are you talking about, Quinn? What maniac?"

Quinn's eyes widened. "Hall!" he cried, looking at them as if they were the ones not making any sense.

"Hall?" Coulson repeated. "As in…_Franklin_ Hall?"

"Yes!"

Coulson looked over at May before turning back to Quinn. "Um…Hall is dead, Quinn. He fell into the gravitonium."

Quinn groaned, obviously frustrated that they weren't understanding him. "Don't you get it? The gravitonium isn't just _gone_. It's…it's _inside of him_."

Coulson simply stared at Quinn for a few seconds before his hand reached forward on the control panel. "Okay, I think we're done here."

"No, no, no, please," Quinn begged. "I know, I _know_ that it doesn't make sense, but all I'm saying is...he's alive. All right? And somehow…he has the gravitonium and he's found a way to control it, and I…I don't know what to do." He was still checking over his shoulder, as if Hall could walk in on him at any minute. "Most of the compound got out after the initial blast, but there's a handful of us left, and _he won't let us leave_, Coulson. I mean, I had to build this radio from scratch and put magnetic shielding in a closet in order to contact you, for God's sake. Okay? And he's not making any sense either, talking about starting over and building a particle generator the size of my house? Basically ignoring everything I say. I need help, okay? You happy? I am asking…No. I am _begging_ for your help."

Coulson was tapping a finger on the panel impatiently, but May could see he was conflicted. "Why the hell should I believe you?"

"I don't think you understand," Quinn chuckled humorlessly. "I am _offering to turn myself in_ here. Okay? I just need you to come out here and try to talk him down or contain him or…or whatever it is you guys do. Because this _is_ what you guys do, right?"

"And how do I know this isn't a trap?"

Quinn sighed as he ran a hand over his face, looking more defeated than May had ever seen him, even after she'd beaten him to a pulp when he'd shot Skye. "You don't," he finally said wearily. "But you're one of the good guys, Coulson," he continued, a very Quinn-like glint in his eye. "And I know you. If there's even a _chance_ that I'm right, if there are potentially innocent lives in danger…wouldn't it be your responsibility to at least make sure I'm wrong?"

May felt her heart sink, and braced herself for Coulson's response, knowing that there was no way he'd be able to refuse. Because Quinn was right. Coulson was one of the good guys. And May was almost certain it would end up being his downfall.

Again.

There was a long silence as they all looked at Coulson expectantly.

"Damn it," he muttered.

* * *

"All right," Skye announced as Triplett and Coulson entered the Bus's comm room. They'd left Homerun shortly after ending the call with Quinn, leaving the base under Isabelle Hartley's watchful care. Coulson had been wary about splitting up the team, especially after what had happened at the Playground, so they were all there. FitzSimmons downstairs in the lab, pulling out all the information they had on the gravitonium, while May was at the helm, racing them down the east coast towards the Caribbean.

"The coordinates Quinn gave us puts us on Boca Caliente, a private island near Grenada." Skye quickly swiped a few keys, and a series of documents and maps flooded the screen. "It was bought out about a year ago for twenty million dollars by an unspecified organization, but I did a little digging, _and_…guess who our secret buyer is."

"Quinn Worldwide?" Coulson shrugged.

"Better," Skye smiled, probably more because she had big news than because she was happy about the information. "Advanced Idea Mechanics."

Coulson's eyes widened. "Wait, _A.I.M._?" he asked in horror. "As in…terrorist organization, the Mandarin, kidnapped the president and threatened global domination A.I.M.? That A.I.M.?"

"That's the one," Skye replied, her smile fading. "God knows why Quinn was involved with them. But they must've not liked his style, because there's no trace of them on the island anymore. Quinn was right about one thing. He's on his own."

Coulson was examining the maps. "And was he right about…the other thing?"

Skye shook her head. "I don't know. It looks like it, though. The entire compound is generating a lot of electricity, and it all seems to be radiating out from something in the center."

"Hall, you think?"

"Could be," she shrugged. "We'll only find out once we get in. Which, of course, means getting past the deadly lasers."

Coulson didn't look happy about any of it. "And Quinn said he could get you in?"

"Yup," Skye nodded. "But it'll be a small window. Maybe five seconds?"

"So we'll have to be quick," Triplett said.

There was a brief pause as Coulson and Skye exchanged glances. "It's just gonna be Skye going in, Trip," Coulson replied quietly. "Quinn can only lower the grid for one person, otherwise Hall will see us coming."

"So I'll go in alone," Triplett reasoned, wondering how on earth Coulson could be okay with sending Skye by herself.

Coulson shook his head. "We need to shut down whatever power source he's using to fuel the generator. And the only way we can do that is if Skye hacks their system from the inside."

"I'll be fine," Skye assured them, looking slightly annoyed. "But I still don't know how we're gonna manage to get everyone out."

Triplett was disliking the plan more and more with every passing second. "How many hostages are there?" he asked.

"Ten," Skye answered. "Including Quinn."

"And what about Hall?"

"Once Skye cracks their system, we'll be able to talk to him from out here," Coulson explained. "Hopefully we'll be able to reason with him, get him to calm down."

Triplett couldn't help thinking that Hall wasn't the only one who needed a bit of reason. "Are you sure that's gonna work, sir?"

Coulson met his eyes, and Triplett could see the strain in his expression. "It's a risk."

"All due respect, Director," Triplett replied solemnly. "This plan has a lot of risks."

Before he had a chance to voice his other concerns, though, Fitz popped his head in the doorway. "Excuse me, sir. Do you have a minute?"

Coulson spun around. "What is it, Fitz? Is everything all right?"

Fitz nodded hurriedly as he entered the room. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine," he said dismissively. "It's about the hostages, sir," he clarified. "You see, I was looking at the specs of the compound…and I think I might have an idea."

Coulson glanced over at Skye before turning back to Fitz. "Does it involve a monkey?"

Fitz's eyes widened in surprise. "Do we have one of those?"

"No."

"Oh," Fitz replied, looking somewhat disappointed. "Well, in that case, sir…I think I might have another idea."

* * *

Skye ran up to the edge of the beach, breathing warmth onto her hands in an attempt to prepare herself for the job ahead. "You ready, Skye?" Coulson's voice spoke in her ear.

She glanced at her watch, which was synced to the Eastern Caribbean time zone to the millisecond, and tried to calm her nerves. "I swear to God, Quinn, if you try to kill me one more time," she muttered before taking a deep breath. "Ready," she said firmly, her feet digging into the sand in anticipation.

"Okay, the grid should be going down in three…"

She clenched her fists together, digging her nails into her palms.

"Two…"

She shut her eyes, taking a final deep breath.

"One."

Her eyes whipped open, and she shot across the barrier, wincing as she waited for the laser grid to fry her where she stood.

She felt nothing but the warm ocean breeze on her skin, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw the faint outline of the grid turning back on. Her legs nearly gave out from relief, and she briefly brought her hands to her face to make sure she was still there. But she knew she didn't have much time to marvel at the insanely badass feat she'd just accomplished.

"Skye?" Coulson asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"I'm in," she huffed, realizing she'd been holding her breath.

She heard Coulson sigh. "All right, just…be careful."

"Don't I always do that?" she smiled, and even though he didn't respond, she could almost hear his anxiety through the comm.

Skye stealthily made her way up the beach, meeting no opposition as she approached the back door Quinn had told her to enter from. There were no armed guards, no outer security beyond the laser fence. If Skye hadn't known the threat they were going up against, she might have thought getting in was too easy.

The cold air inside the entryway was a welcomed change from the humidity outside, and Skye took a moment to throw her hair into a ponytail as she waited for her body to cool off somewhat. With one last glance behind her at the beach, she edged further into the building.

The hallways were dark and empty, and no matter how quiet she tried to be, her footfalls still echoed softly on the marble floor. She took out the small tablet FitzSimmons had given her with the specs, using the carefully labeled map to find the room she was looking for. Her spare hand gripped tightly onto her ICER.

"There you are," she whispered to herself as soon as she'd found the computer lab. She immediately stationed herself at the furthest position from the door, hoping she'd have enough time to hide if she heard someone coming. The machine took a few agonizing seconds to boot up, and then she was in, uploading the programs she needed from her hard drive as fast as she could. The system was state-of-the-art, making her bypass about five different firewalls before she was able to start the hack. "Oh, you're a tricky one, aren't you?"

"You know we can all hear you, right?"

"Shut up, Trip," she murmured. "I'm in my zone." Her fingers flew across the keys. "Okay, I'm uploading the server to the Bus. You should have a link to the control room in about a minute."

"You want us to start the call?" Coulson asked.

"Yeah, try to keep him distracted," Skye replied, quickly removing her hard drive and exiting the computer lab. "I'll see if I can find him."

"Copy that."

She crept slowly down the hallway, listening for commotion or any sign that Hall had discovered the hack. Only the constant hum of a generator reverberated throughout the corridor, and even though she could've been imagining it, the noise seemed to grow louder as she continued along. She took out the tablet again, making sure she was going in the right direction, and soon Coulson's voice rang in her ear again.

"Dr. Hall," he said, and Skye could hear a little bit of an echo, as if his voice was also coming through a speaker. "This is Director Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was hoping I could have a word with you."

There was a brief delay, and then Skye could hear Hall as well. "Mr. Coulson, yes," he answered. "I've been expecting to hear from you for some time now. But I suppose you've had quite a lot on your plate, haven't you?" Skye turned a corner, straining her ear and moving more slowly as she edged closer to the control room. "Let me ask you," he continued. "Did it surprise you to find out S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't what you'd thought it was?"

"Not as much as it surprised me when Ian Quinn told me you were alive," Coulson replied as Skye leaned up against the wall. Peeking inside the room, she could see the outline of a darkened figure, and on the back wall, Coulson's face projected onto a screen. "To be honest, I didn't believe him until now." Hall turned around to face the screen, his back lit up by strange blue light that seemed to be emanating from the wall Skye couldn't see. "I watched you fall, Doctor," Coulson continued. "You were gone."

Hall stretched out his arms. "And yet…here I am."

"I can see that."

"Mr. Coulson, I'm going to be candid with you," Hall said, turning back to the opposite wall. Skye quickly removed her head from the doorway and held her breath, but Hall hadn't given any indication that he'd seen her. "I don't have a lot of time for small talk."

"I understand," Coulson nodded. "I assume you know why I'm calling then."

"Quinn told you of the particle accelerator," Hall smiled. "And now you're here to order me to shut it down."

Coulson's expression didn't change, but Skye could tell he was nervous. "I prefer asking nicely first."

Hall nodded, but he seemed to be paying more attention to whatever was in front of him. "A noble principle, I'm sure, if a tad misguided. Did Quinn happen to tell you anything else?"

"He's worried, Frank," Coulson sighed. "Worried that you might be in over your head."

"You know, Quinn likes to talk a lot," Hall remarked. "He's always been like that. Making false promises, telling his shareholders that he's going to change the world. Even when we were at school together, his favorite thing he used to say was, 'Frank. This is the beginning of a new era.'" He chuckled, giving Skye a sensation similar to having a spider crawl down her back. Had this guy really been the same professor that had paired FitzSimmons together? "But he just doesn't understand, does he?" Hall continued, his face growing serious again. "The world as it is, is heading for disaster. But I'm here to make it right."

"I gotta say, Dr. Hall, you're not making me feel a hell of a lot better."

"I'm sorry, Coulson," Hall said wearily, turning around to walk up to the screen. "But I've been given a great responsibility, and a chance to do something for the greater good. You might not understand right now, but all will be made clear soon."

"But-"

"Goodbye," Hall interrupted. And just like that, the screen went blank. He hadn't touched anything, hadn't issued any voice command to terminate the call. It had simply ended on its own.

As if, somehow, he'd been able to control it himself.

The room was quiet, save for the steady hum of the particle accelerator Skye figured was on the opposite wall. Hall continued to stare at the darkened screen, but after a few moments he spoke. "I know you're there," he said quietly, and Skye felt her blood run cold. "I've always known you were there. I could feel you, every particle of you, the second you came onto the compound."

Skye stepped into the room, trying to pretend that she wasn't absolutely terrified of him or the humongous circular machine next to her crackling with electricity. "Great choice of words, buddy," she told him, surreptitiously moving her hand down into her bag. "Really amping up the creep factor."

Hall gave her a smile, but it had an air of condescension, as if he knew exactly what she was doing. "You profess ignorance," he said, taking a small step closer to her. It took all of Skye's willpower to stand her ground. "But I can feel your heartbeat." He glanced up at the ceiling, looking like he was listening for something. "It speaks to me. Tells me you're terrified."

More than sufficiently disturbed, Skye whipped out her ICER. "Good thing I've got this, then," she replied, pulling the trigger.

But Hall didn't crumple to the ground, as she'd expected him to. He simply held out a hand in front of him, and right before her eyes, the ICER bullet stopped in midair before clattering uselessly to the ground. She stared at the sight in terror, unable to move, and when Hall spoke again, she knew she was screwed. Because she understood now what Quinn had meant. Franklin Hall couldn't just control the gravitonium.

He could control gravity.

"You shouldn't have done that," he said in a quiet voice.

Before she knew what was happening, the ICER flew out of her hand, crashing into the opposite wall. She screamed as she felt herself being lifted off of her feet, nothing but the air beneath her shoes. She only had enough time to hold her hands in front of her face before her body slammed into the window, shattering the glass into a million pieces. Her eyes widened in panic as she watched Hall, who was staring at her through the window while she hovered in midair.

And then…he dropped her.


	15. Chapter 15

She gasped, a sharp pain shooting down her arm as she grabbed onto the concrete ledge to stop her fall. Her legs tried to find purchase on something, anything, around her, but there was nothing but the smooth walls of the compound beneath her. She hung there, already feeling the burn in her fingers and shoulders, trying to catch her breath as Coulson shouted in her ear.

"Skye?" he asked worriedly. "Skye! Talk to me. What just happened?"

"I'm okay, I'm okay," she panted, closing her eyes as she forced herself to calm down. "Just a minor…" Her fingers began to slide back, and a whimper escaped her lips as she frantically grasped onto the ledge. "Setback," she finished weakly.

"All right, we're coming to get you," Coulson replied firmly. "Just hang on."

Skye chuckled quietly, but there were tears in her eyes. "Oh, A.C., you're hilarious," she muttered. "Hilarious, hilarious, hilar-" And even though it went against every survival instinct she possessed, she hadn't been able to keep herself from looking down. "Oh, God."

_"I don't ever want to do another pull-up again."_

_ "You find yourself hanging off the edge of a building twenty stories up? You're gonna want to do at least one."_

Damn it. Now was definitely _not_ the time for the voice she'd been pushing out of her head for weeks to come back. It figured she would hear him now. Now when she was about to die. Now when she couldn't afford to be distracted. She took a deep breath and briefly assessed the situation. It wasn't even twenty stories. But somehow, Skye knew there wasn't really a difference. Because it didn't matter if it was twenty stories or four. The rocks lining the cliffs below her feet would cut her to pieces either way.

Her fingers began to slip again, and she bit back another scream as she tried to find a better grip. Coulson was still speaking through the comm, but his voice wasn't the one playing in her head.

_"There will come a moment when you have to commit to this or bail."_

And suddenly she was calm. Because even though she knew that Coulson wasn't going to get there on time, she also knew that she could do it. She could do it because she chose this. She chose this because she wanted it. And now was the time to prove to herself that she had what it took to finish the job. To do something good for the world. To finally commit.

Who was bailing now?

She forced herself not to look down again as she took a few more deep breaths. The ledge wasn't a bar, so she wasn't able to wrap her hand around it completely. But in a matter of life and death, she figured she would have to deal with it. She brought her feet together, feeling the strain in her abdomen, and with every last ounce of strength she had left, managed to pull herself up onto the ledge.

It wasn't graceful, and it wasn't pretty. But as soon as her head had cleared the shelf, she used her elbows to clamber her legs over the side. For a few seconds she lay there, shaking on the windowsill, until she remembered.

She was still in the same room as the person who'd thrown her out of the window in the first place.

But Franklin Hall didn't pay any attention to her as she slowly put her feet on solid ground. He was examining the generator in front of him, which was still fizzling every so often with electricity.

"Your fear is misplaced," he spoke without turning around.

Skye was still heaving in buckets full of air, hands on her hips to keep her fingers from trembling. But she managed to catch her breath enough to reply. "Pretty sure it's not."

Hall briefly glanced over at her, apparently unimpressed by the ordeal she'd just gone through. "You shouldn't be afraid of me," he told her, his tone as impassive as if he were talking about the weather. "You should be afraid of them."

He finished whatever he was doing with the generator and turned his body to face her, taking a step forward. Skye's heart sped faster. "Because deep down, you know I speak the truth," he said softly, a creepy glint in his eye. "The truth that you've been lied about to all your life. The truth that humanity can't be trusted, not with the protection of the world. They're too dangerous, too destructive. Too quick to waste natural resources that can never be replaced."

Skye impulsively stepped back, her foot catching on the windowsill. "You know what?" she asked, inwardly wincing at the slight shake in her voice. "You're right. As a whole, humanity has done a pretty crappy job." He stopped approaching her, though he was still looking at her strangely. She hoped she could distract him long enough. Otherwise she'd really be dead.

"But you're missing the point, doc," she continued, her voice growing stronger. "Because you know what I've learned? I've learned that no matter how dark the future looks, no matter how bad everything might seem…people can still find something to hope for. Because _that_ is humanity, doc. Hope." His expression hadn't changed, but Skye could tell he was at least somewhat intrigued by what she was saying. She didn't even know what she was saying. But as the words tumbled out, she knew she meant every one of them. "Even when the chips are down and the odds are stacked against them, there's always gonna be someone out there that tries to do the right thing. And yes. The world could be going to hell in a hand basket for all we know," she cried, using her hand to gesture to the broken window behind her. "But for every creepy psychopath like you that shows up and tries to speed it along," she said, surreptitiously slipping her hand into her pocket as she heard the sound of a dull roar. "There will always..._always_ be someone…who fights back."

Just as she'd uttered the last word, she firmly pressed down on the button in her hand. The lights in the room abruptly turned off, and Skye enjoyed a brief moment of smug satisfaction as she noticed the generator powering down.

But Hall only looked mildly perturbed by the sudden loss of power, still staring at Skye. If she didn't know any better, she might have thought he was weirdly fascinated by her.

"Very clever," he murmured. "But your ignorance is more alarming than I'd thought." His lips curled up into a smile, and Skye was glad her stomach was empty. "My dear, what could you possibly know about humanity?"

His words threw her off-guard, but she didn't have time to ask him what he meant. Coulson was in her ear, telling her it was time, and she knew she had about five seconds before her life-saving pull-up would be made useless. She quickly turned around and ran, using one foot on the windowsill to launch herself into the air. She forced herself not to scream as her body went into free-fall, but it was only a couple seconds before she slipped into the narrow opening in the roof of the Bus. She bounced a few times on the inflatable raft that had been laid out in the Cage, and as the plane quickly rose up into the air, Skye leaned back on the orange material, waiting for her breathing to slow down.

Trip and Coulson appeared on one of the sides of the raft, holding out hands to help her up.

"You okay?" Coulson asked, leaning in close to examine her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said shakily, trying to ignore the flash of alarm in his eyes at seeing how bloody her hands were. She did her best to wipe them off on her jacket as they exited the Cage. "Did he get in?"

"Yeah," Coulson nodded. But before Skye could ask for details, Simmons came rushing into the comm room.

"Oh!" she gasped in surprise. "Skye, you're back. I'm so glad you're all right." Skye was still pretty dazed after what she'd just done, but she managed to give Simmons a small smile. Simmons was already onto other things, though. "Listen, I've been skimming through Dr. Hall's publications on the gravitonium, trying to determine how he'd be able to control it." At her words, Skye was suddenly reminded that even though she'd gotten away, they still had a gravity-controlling maniac on their hands. "When you were in there," Simmons continued, "did you happen to notice any-"

She stopped talking abruptly, her eyes darting around the room and a look of confusion passing over her face.

Coulson glanced over at Skye. "What is it, Simmons?"

"Fitz," Simmons murmured quietly, still looking around the room like he could be hiding behind the Holocom or something. "Is he not here with you? He said he was coming up to watch from the comms…" Her voice trailed off as she seemed to notice how they were avoiding her gaze. "Where is he?" she asked Coulson, her eyes hardening. Coulson remained silent, and when she spoke again, there was a darkness in her voice Skye had never heard before. "Sir…where is Fitz?"

* * *

_"There will always…_always_ be someone…who fights back."_

Fitz pressed down on the EMP device in his palm, waiting with bated breath for the grid to go down. He knew it was a long shot, that the device would be able to cut off the power supply throughout the compound. But it had been the only way he could think of for them to get the hostages out to safety. So he'd given another one to Skye, just in case, and waited outside the fence for her to give him the signal. It hadn't been a patient wait, and at one point he'd even thought his heart had stopped when he'd heard Skye screaming.

She'd made it, though, thank goodness, and Fitz had wasted no time in releasing the pulse. He stood there on the edge of the beach in anticipation, and as the barely visible lines of the neodymium fencing disappeared, Fitz breathed a sigh of relief before running as fast as his legs could take him.

He skidded to a halt outside the metal door of the delivery entrance, opening up the security panel to disable the lock. He fumbled a little with the screwdriver. "Come on, come on," he muttered in frustration, but he was soon able to pry back the square and access the wires behind it. It was only when he was actually confronted with the wires that he froze.

He'd done this before. He _knew_ he'd done this before. And not just as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent (he'd probably done it loads of times as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent), but back at MIT and Glasgow. Hell, even in primary school he was taking apart every electronic device he could find. So why was it that now, staring at something he _knew_ he could solve…did he _not know_ what to do?

Something in the back of his mind told him he knew the answer to his question, but he pushed his thoughts aside. He was running out of time.

"Blast it," he swore, reaching into his bag and pulling out one of the pick-lock devices he'd grabbed from the Bus. He planted it on the entrance and stepped back a little, unsure of how large the explosion would be. But after a few seconds and a small crash, the door swung open.

He quickly rushed into the darkened hallway, holding up the incapacitating cartridge emitting railgun he still couldn't believe he'd designed. There were no guards in the corridor, though, and it wasn't difficult for him to find the room he was looking for. When he burst through the door of the cement space, a group of people glanced up at him. Some were leaned up against the wall, some were lying on the ground, some even appeared to be in the middle of a heated discussion. But they all went quiet as they saw him, looking somewhat dazed, like they weren't sure if he was really there.

"Okay, uh, we haven't got much time," Fitz stammered, just now realizing that he hadn't quite planned out this part. He gestured out the door behind him. "There's a combat rubber raiding craft down on the south beach, if you all wanna start…heading that way."

Nobody moved, the entire group staring at him uncomprehendingly. Fitz shook his head, cursing his social inability, and tried to smile past his nervousness. "Sorry," he tried again. "I'm, uh…Agent Fitz. Of S.H.I.E.L.D." He stepped aside and made some kind of motion with his hands to indicate for them to start filing out. "So if you'll all just…come along…"

Some of them were exchanging glances now, but still nobody was moving. Fitz sighed in exasperation. "The grid could come back on at any time!" he cried, noticing a few of them jump. "This is a rescue mission, for God's sake. Let's go!"

They were immediately on their feet, and Fitz quickly ushered them out the door. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shaking his head as he followed them down the hallway.

As soon as the group had cleared the building, Fitz ran ahead of them, throwing a few pebbles at the space where the grid should have been. When each rock fell harmlessly to the ground, he gave them the signal to continue on down the beach towards the motorized craft he and Skye had come in on. He held his breath as he pushed them off the shore, knowing the boats were only designed to hold a maximum of ten people and hoping his low body-fat percentage would mask the fact that there were eleven.

"All right, Agent May," he said once they'd gotten out into open sea. "Whenever you're ready."

Despite still being completely terrified of screwing up, Fitz couldn't keep a smile from spreading across his face as the magnificent aircraft came around the island's northern cliffs. A few of the people in the boat cheered at the sight, and one woman even grabbed Fitz's collar in order to plant a kiss onto his cheek.

But not everyone in the raft was relieved. One man sitting next to Fitz kept glancing over his shoulder back at the compound. "We're not out of the woods yet," he murmured.

As soon as the bottom of the ramp touched the water's surface, Fitz was pushing people out of the boat, knowing that May could only keep the Bus in that position for so long. Trip and Skye were there, holding out their hands to help pull the hostages up into the cargo hold. The last one left, Fitz jumped into the opening just as the Bus began to rise again, and he quickly steadied himself against the wall until they'd reached a constant altitude.

"Good to have you back, man," Trip smiled, slapping Fitz on the shoulder.

"You made it," Skye sighed, giving him a hug. "Thank God."

Fitz allowed himself a short moment of relief and hugged her back, the weight of what had just happened only starting to hit him. His relief was short-lived, though, as over Skye's shoulder he noticed Simmons coming through the lab doors. She walked up to him, her eyes scanning the group of people in the cargo hold. "Is anyone in need of medical attention?" she asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

Fitz scratched behind his ear. "No, um…I think they all just need some rest. A few of them may be a bit dehydrated, but I think that's about-"

"Thank you," she interrupted, giving a nod to Trip before heading back towards the lab. Fitz watched her go with a sinking heart, knowing he'd have to apologize for deceiving her later. But if she had known about the plan, he was absolutely certain she would have never let him go. Her stony behavior towards him now only confirmed his earlier suspicions.

Trip turned to face the small crowd. "Hello, everyone. I'm Agent Triplett with S.H.I.E.L.D. I know you're all probably pretty shaken up right now, but we've got blankets, food, and water upstairs, so feel free to help yourselves to whatever you want."

There was a brief pause before one woman stepped forward towards the steps. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm freaking starving," she muttered. It wasn't long before the rest of them followed suit after her. Trip and Skye smiled at them as they filed past, but their faces dropped when the last man attempted to move past them.

Trip placed a hand on the man's chest, and Fitz recognized him as the one who'd kept looking back at the island. "Not you," Trip shook his head.

Before Fitz knew what was happening, Skye walked up to the man and threw a punch to his right cheekbone. "_That's_ for what you helped do to Mike Peterson," she said angrily, only giving him a second to recover from the hit. "And _that_," she continued, getting the left side of his face this time, "is for shooting me."

She began to walk away, but she must have heard the bitter scoff escape the man's lips because she was back again, kneeing him in the groin. "And _that's _for shooting me twice, you son of a bitch," she hissed at him. He held up a hand as he keeled over in pain, but she was apparently done with her assault. "I hope you like cages," she told him while Trip put handcuffs on his wrists. "'Cause you're gonna be in one for a long time, buddy."

Fitz stared after the three of them in mild amazement before turning his attention back to the lab. And as he watched Simmons busy herself with whatever she was doing, studiously ignoring him, he felt dread settle into the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly the thought of crossing a deadly neodymium laser fence wasn't nearly as terrifying as the thought of going into that lab.

* * *

Skye hurried into the comm room after making sure Trip had a handle on Quinn. "What's going on?" she asked breathlessly.

Coulson briefly looked over his shoulder at her and turned back to the screen. "He's got the power back up."

"And the generator?"

"Still going, it looks like," he replied.

Skye swallowed nervously. "Well…well, everyone's out, right?" she reasoned. "He can't hurt anyone besides himself now."

Coulson raised an eyebrow at her, but he wasn't smiling. "Do you remember what happened last time?"

"I try not to think about it," she muttered.

"Well, start thinking," Coulson said grimly, moving around the Holocom. "Because this thing is ten times bigger than the one they had on Malta. And that one had enough power to bury a small country."

Skye felt her heart skip a beat. "How do we stop it?"

Coulson swiped a few keys, and the screen flashed with his outgoing call. "We're gonna try the source one more time."

She wanted to tell him that there was probably no way they would able to reason with the guy, mostly because he was an insane psychopath hell-bent on mass destruction. But before she could say anything, Hall's face appeared on the screen.

"Dr. Hall," Coulson said, giving Hall an almost apologetic smile. "Me again."

Hall simply sighed before going back to his machine. "You can't stop the inevitable, Mr. Coulson," he declared. "You should know better than anyone that the world needs to be protected."

"Not gonna argue with you on that one, Doctor," Coulson replied. "But it seems to me that operating that machine behind you with your newfound abilities kinda contradicts that statement, don't you think?"

Hall didn't answer for a few moments, but when he did, he ignored Coulson's question. "You know, they say that if all of the ants in the world were to go extinct instantly, humanity wouldn't be able to sustain itself," he said quietly, sending another chill down Skye's spine. "And yet if the same thing were to happen to humans, the world would simply re-grow over their remains, thriving as it returns back to its original state. After all, we've only been around for about two hundred thousand years, a mere _minute_ on the timeline of the earth. And yet we've still managed to destroy over half of the world's natural resources in that time."

"You know, I _could_ recycle more," Coulson said in a reasonable tone, but Skye saw the fear in his eyes.

Hall didn't laugh. "It's too late for that kind of thing, Mr. Coulson," he replied, turning back to the generator. "Humans are destroying the earth. But I'm going to give it a chance to start over."

Coulson looked over at Skye with wide eyes. "Dr. Hall, I'm gonna have to ask you one more time to turn off the generator."

"I'm sorry, Coulson," Hall apologized. "But I can't do that. The world is heading for a new era, a new genesis…and there's nothing you or I can do to stop it. All we can do is hope that humanity can get it right the second time around."

Before Coulson could respond, the call cut out. He and Skye stood in stunned silence as they stared at the screen.

"Genesis?" Coulson repeated weakly.

Skye shook her head. "He's just crazy, right? He can't actually do that."

All of a sudden, the noise of a loud explosion resounded throughout the Bus, and a few people out in the common room began shouting. Skye quickly bolted over to see what they were looking at, squeezing past a few heads to squint out the window. Coulson was immediately at her side, and they both watched the spectacle outside in horrified disbelief.

The entire compound was in full view as May circled around the island at a safe distance. But as Skye's eyes traveled downwards, she wasn't sure if their distance would make much of a difference. Because the entire island, compound and all, wasn't down at sea level like it should've been.

It was hovering in midair.

Coulson was the first to speak. "I don't get paid enough for this."

* * *

When Jemma heard the lab doors whoosh open, she didn't bother looking up from the journal articles she had scattered in front of her. She told herself it was so she could concentrate, but even if she hadn't already read every single word Dr. Hall had written on the gravitonium, it would have been a lie. She didn't look up because she couldn't afford to. She no longer had the luxury of being able to blow up at him.

There was the sound of hesitant footsteps as he approached her, and it took all of her willpower to keep her eyes focused on the page.

"Er...Simmons…" he began.

"The Holotable should be on if you want to pull up the specs of the compound," she interrupted coldly, still refusing to look at him. "Do you remember how to do that?"

An awkward pause followed, and Jemma knew he was trying to figure out what to say. "Y-Yeah," he finally stammered. "Yeah, um, I think I do. Er…but Simmons-"

Jemma sighed, walking over to the Holotable herself and bringing up the diagram. "The EMP device worked to temporarily turn off the particle accelerator, but it appears as if he's somehow been able to turn it on again," she explained, zooming in on the projection as she continued to avoid his gaze. "We have to figure out how to disable it from out here, although I haven't the slightest on how we're going to manage that."

He tried to interrupt her again. "Simmons-"

She went on as if he hadn't spoken, but she could feel him right next to her and it was driving her mad. "We can't put a catalyst into the gravitonium's core like we did last time, because…well, because Dr. Hall _is_ the core now, and that's not even taking into consideration how drastically different the gravity fields are behaving-"

"Simmons," he repeated insistently, reaching out to lightly touch her elbow.

That was all it took for her to crack.

"_What_, Fitz?" she cried, finally turning to face him.

He pulled his hand away from her, almost as if she'd given him a shock. But he still remained by her side. "I'm sorry," he said fervently, and Jemma knew that in some irrational part of his head, he was telling the truth.

She looked back at the specs in front of her in an attempt to keep from crying. "Oh," she laughed bitterly. "You're sorry. Well, that's fantastic." She knew she should stop there, knew that if she kept talking she would say something she would regret. But his words had reminded her of the heart attack he'd nearly given her, and suddenly she couldn't keep her own from pouring out of her mouth. "If you don't mind my asking, what is it you're sorry for again?" His eyes widened when she turned to face him once more, and she realized with only a slight pang of guilt that this was the first time he'd remember seeing her so upset. "It wouldn't be because you lied to me, would it?"

His mouth was open in shock. "I-"

"Or that you went into a potentially hostile situation without any tactical support?"

"I didn't-"

But she wouldn't let him finish. "Or it couldn't possibly be because you didn't even _bother_ to _tell me_ your brilliant plan before jumping out into the field. A plan, might I add, that could've gone horribly wrong had even the _slightest_ hiccup occurred. Forcing me to find out only after it was too late. Is that it?" she asked loudly. "Is that what you're sorry for?"

"Yes!" he shouted, startling her. He threw his hands up and let them fall to his sides, looking defeated. "Yes, okay? All of the above."

Jemma was thrown for a second, unused to having Fitz back down from her so quickly. It was yet another reminder that the Fitz she'd known before was gone.

There was a heavy pause before he spoke again. "The plan worked, though, didn't it?" he asked sheepishly.

There it was. _That_ was the Fitz she knew. She might have laughed under any other circumstances, but she was still upset with him.

"That's not the point, Fitz!" she explained in exasperation. "The point is you could've been hurt-"

"Which didn't happen," he protested.

"The neodymium alone would have been able to kill if you if it hadn't worked-"

"But it _did_ work, you see, because of _my_ plan-"

"You had no backup, no training-"

"I was the only one who could disable the secondary sensors-"

"No sense at all as to know-"

"But you seem to be completely fine overlooking that bit-"

"You weren't ready, Fitz!" she shouted over him, frustrated that he wasn't understanding her.

"Oh," Fitz scoffed, starting to sound more angry than annoyed. "Really, now? And who are _you_ exactly to tell me I'm not ready?"

Jemma wouldn't have been more shocked if he'd punched her in the stomach. But he wasn't done. "I was _fine_," he insisted. "Okay? It's not my fault I actually wanted to do something useful for a change, instead of…of hiding out in the lab all day like you," he said, waving his hand in her general direction.

Jemma shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. "_Me?_" she exclaimed in shock. "You're saying _I _hide out in the lab?"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?"

"That's what we were brought on this team to _do_, Fitz!" she cried. "To work in the lab! There's a reason we were at SciTech instead of Operations, okay? It's because _this is how we contribute_. We…we didn't even pass our bloody field assessments, Fitz! How on earth do you think we'd be here otherwise if it weren't for what we do? Most of our colleagues at SciOps would've killed for an opportunity like the one Coulson gave us."

Fitz snorted. "Well, maybe he missed the mark, because you sure have a funny way of showing that you actually want to be here."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It _means_," he replied with affected patience, "that the S.H.I.E.L.D. you and I joined a long time ago doesn't exist anymore. Even Coulson himself said we had no obligation to him. Okay? _N__o one_ is forcing you to stay here."

Jemma's jaw dropped. "You wouldn't even be out here if I hadn't _begged_ you to come along, Fitz. You were perfectly happy in your, and I _quote_," she said, putting her hands on her hips and lowering her voice, "'safe, indoor, non-mobile lab at the Academy.'"

"Oh, that's great, quote the amnesiac, that'll really get your point across-"

"You wouldn't last a day without me in the field-"

"And you know that for a fact, do you now?"

Jemma tried to calm herself down, but it was too late. Her eyes had already filled with tears. She couldn't help it. She _needed_ him to listen to her. "Look, Fitz," she snapped. "Just because _you _don't remember doesn't mean that _I've_ forgotten."

He fell silent at her words, apparently picking up on her shift in tone. Or maybe he'd noticed that she'd started crying. His face turned red, and there was something in his expression that she couldn't quite read. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean-"

"No," she interrupted firmly, her vision blurring. "Okay? I had to watch you almost _die _out in the field, Fitz. So yes," she scoffed bitterly. "I _do_ know. And do you want to know why?"

"Simmons," he tried to stop her, but she wasn't having it.

"It's because every minute of every day, I have been _right there_ with you," she said, her tears finally escaping down her cheeks. "At the Academy, at SciOps, the Playground, this _bloody _airplane. Even in that godforsaken box at the bottom of the sea. _I_ was there."

He was speechless now, staring at her in silence, and all of a sudden she knew she had to get out of there. Because the next words out of his mouth wouldn't be the ones that were seared into her memory, the words he'd spoken when they'd had almost the exact same argument months before. She didn't look in his eyes, not wanting to see the emptiness again, and instead quickly walked out of the lab doors.

It was only when the doors had closed behind her that she heard him. It was quiet, and his voice sounded strained. But his words were as clear as day.

"You've been beside me the whole damn time."

* * *

He knew he shouldn't have said it. He knew once the words had slipped out that it was a mistake. But there was something she'd said, some little micro-expression in her face when she'd yelled at him, that had thrown him off-balance. And he could feel bits and pieces coming through the cracks of his mind, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't all there.

That phrase, that last phrase she'd said. That's what had done it. It was like she'd taken a sledgehammer to a wall in his brain, leaving a hole for the images to seep through. But he still didn't understand them. _Why couldn't he understand them?_

He was _so close_, so close he could almost taste it. And he saw her face, her face from another time, another time when she'd been behind the glass. They joined the other images he had of her now, images of her beside him in a lab, images of studying on a wide lawn, images that had first come fleetingly but which now he understood was a part of his past. Of their past. And somehow he knew right then that she was the only one who could connect the images, who could help him understand.

But she'd walked away, and he'd felt the images start to fade away again. So he'd said the first thing that had popped into his head to get her to stay, even though he hadn't understood.

She froze outside of the closed lab doors, and he knew she'd heard him despite the fact that she didn't turn around. She was probably bracing herself for the disappointment again, knowing that the chances of him spontaneously recovering were zilch at this point. Or maybe she'd just decided not to care anymore.

But he willed her to turn around. He needed her to turn around. Because something told him this was it. If she walked away now, the wall she'd cracked would close up again. And Fitz wasn't sure he could handle going back to forgetting.

It was a painfully long time before she moved. The glare from the lights reflected off of the glass, so he couldn't quite see her face when she slowly spun around. But as she stepped forward, the doors whooshing open to admit her, he could've sworn his heart stopped.

Because when she met his eyes, the wall in his mind completely disintegrated.

And he remembered.


	16. Chapter 16

She didn't know exactly what compelled her to turn around. It went against every rational bone she had in her body, every reasonable thought that explained that what she still foolishly hoped for was impossible. It had been too long since the accident, there had been too many complications with his condition, and everything, every single piece of evidence, screamed with the conclusion that he would never recover his full memory. But there was something in his voice, something like a quiet desperation, that told her this time was different than the other times he'd reflexively answered her.

And maybe, if she was honest with herself, it wasn't the rational part of her that turned around.

She hesitated outside the glass, knowing that stepping forward would be setting herself up for even more disappointment. But staring at his outline behind the glass reminded her of another time, another time they'd been in that exact same spot, when their situations had been reversed. When she'd been on the other side, alone and afraid, and he hadn't hesitated to step through the doors. When he'd chosen to risk contracting the virus, fully prepared to die by her side, all with only the tiniest bit of hope that they could create the antiserum together.

He hadn't been rational, and he hadn't been smart.

But he'd been there.

So even though Jemma knew it would shatter her again, she also knew that she had to go back in. Just to see. Just to make sure. Just so she wouldn't live the rest of her life wondering if she'd missed it.

She held her breath as she stepped forward, the sound of the doors opening not nearly as loud as her pounding heartbeat. And when she met his eyes, her heartbeat seemed to stop altogether. Because she saw it. She saw the shift, the realization, the pain. She saw everything.

And she knew he did too.

He remembered.

They simply stood there for some time, just looking at each other, not saying anything. What was there to say? It had been two months. Two months since he'd recognized her. Two months since he'd hit that button in the med pod. Two months she'd labored day in and day out to help him remember, when all it had taken was one simple phrase.

Could it really have been that easy all along? Jemma could see the tears in his eyes and knew he was thinking the same thing.

No. Whatever it had been, no matter how uncomplicated the solution had appeared, it had not been easy. For either of them.

Jemma couldn't have said if the moment lasted a second or an hour, but time was an irrelevant measure in the space between them. At one point, though, she saw him open his mouth to speak.

"All right, FitzSimmons, you're up."

Coulson and Skye came striding into the lab, jarring Jemma out of the timeless trance she'd been in. But it only took one glance at their faces to remind her that time was something they couldn't afford to waste.

Because whether or not Fitz remembered her, they still had an unstable particle accelerator to deal with.

"We need to turn this thing off as soon as possible," Coulson continued, his white face the only indication of his anxiety. "And by as soon as possible, I mean now."

Jemma pushed aside her turbulent thoughts. "How bad is it, sir?"

Coulson simply gave a nod to Skye, who walked over to the screen in the lab and switched the feed to one of the Bus's outer security cameras. Jemma stared in shock at the anomaly shown in front of her. In her head, she'd known Dr. Hall had somehow acquired the ability to control gravity fields. But the large mass of land hovering a mile above sea level was an entirely different scenario.

"Okay," she heard Fitz murmur across the room.

"Bad," she nodded.

She met his eyes again for a split second, and then they were both at the Holotable.

Jemma zoomed in on the specs of the compound. "The electromagnetic pulse disabled the transmission systems, but-"

"The generation stations are still up, not to mention-"

"The particle accelerator itself. Which means theoretically it should take at least eight hours for the protons to accelerate up to collider's maximum energy-"

"Only the power wasn't out long enough for it to lose cryogenic cooling."

Coulson interrupted them. "I'm gonna need you to talk to me here," he said, glancing nervously between them. "I don't want to know _why_ it's happening, I want to know how to stop it. So do we have any actual ideas? Because I don't know if you've noticed, but we've got a giant floating island on our hands. Okay? This guy's gone full-blown crazy, and he's refusing to listen to me or turn it off, talking about letting humanity…" He paused, obviously hesitant about what he was about to say next. "Start over."

Jemma's eyes widened. "Oh, dear," she murmured before turning to Fitz. "Could we try shorting out his power supply again?"

He shook his head, looking deep in thought as he stared at the hologram of the generator in front of him. "It won't work, not if he's controlling the gravity fields himself."

"But maybe the-"

"Switchgear, yes," he breathed, pointing his finger at her. "That could do it."

"We don't have time for maybes, guys," Coulson pointed out.

"Yeah, and trust me," Skye spoke up. "This whole new-world idea of his is _not_ cool."

But Jemma and Fitz were still on their previous train of thought. Fitz zoomed in on the switchgear. "If we could just redirect the-"

"Wait," Jemma said, looking over at Skye.

"Yeah, hang on," Fitz agreed, following her gaze.

"What did you just say?" they asked at the same time.

Skye briefly glanced at Coulson before turning her attention back to them. "Uh…" she replied in confusion. "That…your ex-professor is a psycho?"

Jemma shook her head. "No, about his idea to start over. You said-"

"New world," Fitz finished.

They looked back at each other. "New world," they repeated in amazement, and Jemma could tell that he was thinking the same thing she was.

Fitz quickly swiveled around the projection, angling in on one of the generator's sides. "A malfunction," he said. "That was it, wasn't it?"

Jemma nodded, remembering the destroyed acceleration lab. "In Batesville, yes-"

"Creating a burst of energy-"

"Once it hit maximum velocity-"

"So if Hall is trying to overload the gravitational generator-"

"All _we'd_ have to do is-"

"Create a malfunction just before it reaches-"

_"Exponential acceleration!"_ they cried together, their voices having risen in excitement.

"Skye, you're a genius," Fitz assured her, turning back to the Holotable.

Skye sounded confused when she responded. "I am?"

But Jemma and Fitz were already another step ahead, and after a second their smiles faded.

"How are we going to get in, though?" Jemma asked wearily, extracting the security diagram and sliding it over next to that of the generator. "If Dr. Hall is controlling all the parts-"

"We won't be able to access the generator directly," Fitz sighed, folding his arms. "We need another energy source."

"Yes," Jemma agreed. "Something that's strong enough to get past the-"

"Fence," they breathed, looking over at each other again.

"Neodymium," Jemma exclaimed, nearly smacking herself in the forehead. "It's used to create-"

"Magnets," Fitz nodded excitedly.

"And an electromagnetic field is almost always stronger than-"

"_Gravity_," they finished together.

Fitz turned to the front of the lab. "Skye, do we still have a link to the compound?"

Skye was staring at the two of them in mild bewilderment. "Um…yeah," she replied, adjusting her posture so she wasn't leaning against the lab bench. "Why?"

"Can you access the grid?" Fitz asked.

"I could try," she answered hesitantly. "But you can't go in there, guys. He'll see you coming from a mile away."

"We don't need to physically get in," Jemma shook her head. "All we need is a way to redirect the neodymium-"

"For the love of God, in English please!" Skye cried.

Jemma was startled, uncertain that she hadn't, in fact, been speaking in English. Thankfully Fitz seemed to know what to say to help Skye understand.

"We need to take all of the fence's power," he explained, using his hands to indicate a spherical shape. "And send it to one concentrated area."

Skye had her hands on her hips. "And then what? It'll…explode?"

Jemma and Fitz shared a tentative glance before answering. "Just…just a teensy bit," Fitz replied, holding up his thumb and pointer finger.

Jemma nodded in agreement. "You know, just enough to raise the temperature of the superconducting wire in the accelerator."

Skye and Coulson were both looking at the two of them with more than a little apprehension. "And is there any way this plan could backfire?" Coulson asked.

Neither of them answered, but their silence was probably all the answer he needed.

"What's the range you've got on the hack?" Fitz asked Skye.

"Ten miles," she replied.

"All right, we'll need you to access the grid in order to redirect the power."

Skye nodded, moving over to one of the computers in the lab, even though she still didn't look excited about what they were about to do.

Fitz turned to Coulson. "Sir, tell Agent May to get us as far out over the water as possible, but not more than 9.9 miles away from the compound."

May's voice came in over the comm system. "Copy that."

Fitz walked over to Skye, leaning one hand on the lab bench and the other on the back of her chair. "All right, how much time do we have?"

Jemma examined the electrical output of the compound, her heart racing. "Based on its current rate, the generator should reach exponential acceleration in…two minutes."

"Oh, good," Skye said sarcastically. "Not in a hurry then."

The next minute passed by in agonizing slowness as Skye attempted to access the compound's security. At one point, Fitz began pacing behind Skye's chair, his hands on his waist as he occasionally glanced over Skye's shoulder to see what she was doing.

"Quit it, Fitz," Skye muttered.

Jemma saw Fitz struggle to stand still for another thirty seconds, but eventually he started tapping his foot. "Are you almost-"

"Done," Skye announced, pressing one final key. "Where should I send the power surge?"

Fitz approached the back of her chair, leaning forward to see the computer. "Is there central heating?"

"It's the Caribbean."

"Oh," he said quietly. "Right. Well, just outside the control room then."

Jemma was starting to get anxious now (not that she hadn't been anxious before). But Skye didn't take long to redirect the power.

"It's ready."

"All right, Skye," Jemma replied, raising her voice as she timed the acceleration. "Send it…now!"

As soon as Skye hit the key, everyone in the lab turned to look at the screen. At first, nothing appeared to be out of place, besides the troubling fact that there was an island floating above the sea. But after a couple of seconds, Jemma noticed a sort of ripple extend in the air around the compound, focusing on a fixed point in a sudden flash of light.

Jemma held her breath.

"Did it work?" she heard Coulson whisper.

They all stood there in silence, waiting. Jemma didn't even know what they were waiting for anymore. It had been a gamble, a huge one at that, but they hadn't known what else to do. They would have run out of time if they had tried anything else.

Perhaps they had run out of time anyways.

All of a sudden, Jemma felt a small tremor beneath her feet. The Bus swerved unexpectedly, forcing everyone to grab onto the nearest fixed surface, but it only lasted for a second. From the screen, Jemma saw that one side of the building, the side that the surge had been sent to, had erupted in flames.

And then, right before their eyes…it disappeared.

Not just the flames. Not just the pulse of energy.

The entire island, compound and all, had vanished into thin air.

Jemma released the breath she'd been holding, her legs nearly collapsing with relief. It had worked. It had actually worked.

"Uh…guys?" Skye asked nervously. "Where'd it go?"

Jemma was surprised that Skye didn't seem to remember, but Coulson was the one who answered her.

"Another world," he breathed in incredulity.

"Another dimension, actually," Jemma clarified, and she saw the realization dawn on Skye's face.

"Like with Tobias?" she asked. "The guy who terrorized Hannah and all of us because he was-"

"Trapped in between the dimensions, yes."

Skye turned back to the screen, which was currently displaying nothing but the wide expanse of the Caribbean Sea. "And he's gone?"

Jemma brought the thermal and electrical readouts up from the Holotable. "Looks like," she replied. "All the gravitational fields in the area have returned to normal."

Just then, the lab doors whooshed open as Triplett ran inside. "Did you guys see that?" he panted, pointing up the stairs. His eyes fell on the Holotable and the screen behind it, and he placed his hands on his hips. "You guys did that, didn't you?" he smiled, shaking his head before addressing Coulson. "Sir, some of the folks upstairs are kinda freaking out right now. What should I tell them?"

Coulson glanced around the room, meeting Jemma's eye as the hint of a smile played on his face. "Tell them…they're going home."

Jemma didn't hear Triplett's response, or even the sound of the doors as he exited the lab. Because as soon as Coulson gave his order, Jemma felt the panic and terror of the last several minutes subside, and she suddenly remembered what had happened just before that panic had started.

She slowly turned her head to look at him, and she saw that he'd come to the same realization that she had. He was staring at her from behind Skye's chair, his mouth open in shock, and despite the rushing sound in her ears, she was able to hear him.

"Jemma," he whispered.

Before she knew what she was doing she was already moving around the Holotable over to where he stood. And she didn't understand why his eyes widened, or the strangled sob that escaped from her lips, or why all of a sudden there were two pairs of hands pulling her back, until she saw the red mark on his cheek where she'd hit him.

"What the hell, Simmons?" Skye asked as Jemma tried to release herself from their grasp. "Are you crazy?"

"No, no, it's okay," Fitz murmured, holding up a hand as he stepped forward. "You can let her go. I…I deserve it."

"Yes, you do!" she cried angrily, her tears spilling over in frustration. Coulson and Skye still weren't letting her get closer to him, though. "Yes, you do," she repeated, feeling her sudden burst of energy fade.

"I know," he nodded. "I know, Jemma."

"Can someone please tell me what the hell is going on?" Skye yelled next to Jemma's ear.

But Fitz ignored her. "Let her go, sir," he said quietly.

"Agent Fitz…" Coulson began.

"I said let her go, sir," Fitz repeated more loudly, a look of determination on his face as he glanced over Jemma's shoulder. "It's all right."

There must have been some kind of silent exchange between Fitz and Coulson, or maybe Coulson had thought she'd calmed down, because after a few seconds Jemma felt the grips on her arms release. She stood there, trying to catch her breath as all of the anger and worry and misery she'd been pushing back for the past two months rose up to the surface.

Fitz met her eyes, and she saw the apology on his face, as well as his resignation. "Go on then, Jemma," he said, giving her a nod. "It's all right."

She stepped forward, slowly this time, so that before she hit him he would be able to see her expression and know how much he'd hurt her. But when she kept coming closer and he didn't flinch away, continuing to steadily hold her gaze, she realized that he knew. He'd known, even before she had, that she wouldn't be able to do it again.

So when she finally reached him and threw her arms around his neck, it only took him a moment to relax against her, wrapping his own arms around her as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder. For a long time, he just held her tightly, letting her cling onto him as she let out all of her unreleased tears. Somewhere in the back of her awareness she heard the lab doors open and close, but she didn't care who could see her right now. Fitz was here, and he remembered, and she didn't have room to care about anything else.

After a while she realized that Fitz was saying something. But as she calmed down enough to hear him, she discovered he was simply repeating the same thing over and over again. "I'm sorry, Jemma, I'm sorry," he murmured, and she could hear the tears in his voice as well. "I'm so sorry."

She tried to shake her head against his shoulder. "No, no, I didn't mean all that earlier, Fitz," she insisted. "I was just-"

"Jemma, no, stop, all right?" he interrupted, gently stroking her back. "You don't have to say anything."

"But I didn't-"

"No, Jemma, I was an idiot," he murmured as he rested his chin on her shoulder. "You were right about all of it, okay? I wouldn't last one bloody day without you."

"But you didn't _know_, Fitz-"

"That doesn't matter-"

"There's no way you could've-"

He turned his head so he could whisper in her ear. "Jemma, _stop_," he said softly, sending a small shiver down her spine. "Okay?"

Jemma fell silent, more because she was exhausted than because she felt the need to stop apologizing. She nodded, a few tears continuing to fall down her face. She expected him to pull away then, now that she'd calmed down somewhat, but he held on a bit longer.

She didn't know exactly how long they stood there, holding onto each other, but she was glad that he didn't complain about it. Eventually her tears subsided, giving way to an embarrassing set of hiccups, and she sighed into his shoulder. "I still shouldn't have hit you," she mumbled.

She felt his chest shaking with quiet laughter. "Jemma, it was fine," he insisted. "I promise, okay? Besides, I was long overdue for a good punch anyways."

Jemma didn't laugh, but she was relieved that he wasn't angry with her. He gently disentangled himself from her arms, keeping his hands on her shoulders as he looked into her face. "You're all right now, yeah?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling a burn on her cheeks as she realized how dreadful she probably looked. But Fitz didn't seem to mind, leaning forward to brush his lips against her forehead before stepping away from her a little.

"Fitz…" she said slowly, and she noticed him freeze slightly as she looked up into his face. "How much do you remember about…" She hesitated. "About what happened?"

Fitz looked away from her for a moment, leaning back against the lab bench and folding his arms. "Um…I remember falling," he finally said, nodding a bit to himself. "Yeah, falling. And, um…oh, I remember strapping us into the backboard before we hit the water, but…after that?" he shrugged, shaking his head. "Nothing, I guess. Nothing clear, that is," he clarified before chuckling nervously. "Guess I must've hit my head pretty hard, yeah? Got a broken arm in there, too."

He seemed to be telling her the truth, but she needed to make sure. "And that's…all you remember?" she asked.

Fitz nodded absently again. "Yeah, yeah…" He trailed off as he looked at her again, and she could see something like panic in his eyes, even though he tried to hide it with another laugh. "Why do you ask? I didn't…I didn't do anything embarrassing down there, did I?"

Jemma focused on keeping her face completely neutral. "No," she replied, giving him a small smile. "Not at all."

It wasn't necessarily a misrepresentation of the truth. After all, what qualified as embarrassing for her would hardly mean the same thing to him. But if she was honest with herself, she'd known what he'd meant. And despite the fact that she knew she should have probably told him, she also knew that after all he'd gone through over the past two months, he didn't need anything else to worry about.

And sometimes…even for her…it was just easier to lie.

* * *

Skye walked through the open door of Coulson's office, only giving a short courtesy knock on the wood. "Hey, A.C., you wanted to-" She stopped talking as she realized that Coulson wasn't actually in the office, but May had already turned around. "Oh," she said, awkwardly trying to back out of the room. "Sorry. I'll just…come back later."

"Coulson should be back in a minute," May told her. "He just wanted to check in with Deputy Director Hartley."

Skye smiled as she walked over to the desk. "I gotta say, I was pretty surprised he didn't offer you the job."

"He did," May shrugged, a smirk on her lips. "I turned him down."

"You did?" Skye asked incredulously. "Why?"

May's smirk faded, and Skye was suddenly worried that she'd stepped on a sensitive topic. But May didn't sound angry when she responded. "The only reason I came back out into the field in the first place was for Coulson."

"To keep an eye on him," Skye nodded. "You're still doing that, aren't you?"

May raised an eyebrow, the edges of her lips curling up again. "Can you blame me?" she asked, shaking her head. "Hartley's not gonna have time for that. She's going to be too busy filing reports and relaying messages."

Skye tried not to laugh, with very little success. "Paperwork and talking to people?" she snorted. "I thought those were your two favorite things in the world."

May gave her a half-assed glare, but even a half-assed glare was enough from the Cavalry to make Skye shut up. "You forget, Skye," she smiled, folding her arms. "Before I came out here, I spent over ten years doing paperwork behind a S.H.I.E.L.D. administration desk."

"Oh, come on, you're telling me you actually _liked_ that?" Skye asked doubtfully. "You totally hated it, didn't you?"

May simply rolled her eyes in response, but she didn't seem upset. She sighed after a few seconds, though, and Skye could tell that her Cavalry history lesson was done for the day. "About the mission, Skye…"

Skye closed her eyes briefly. "Look, I know what you're going to say, okay? I-"

"You did well."

Skye closed her mouth, not sure if she'd heard correctly. "I'm sorry, what?"

May met her gaze. "You were good," she said sincerely, making Skye even more confused.

"You're…not gonna say I talked too much?"

There was a pause before May spoke again, and Skye could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. "Every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent has different strengths and weaknesses," she explained. "It's what helps form a cohesive organization." She held up a hand. "Now, I'm not saying what you did would be advisable all the time," she assured Skye. "But even though Hall had already attempted to hurt you…you didn't run away. You still tried to talk him down."

Skye scoffed. "Didn't exactly work," she muttered.

"That's not the point," May shook her head. "You kept him distracted so Fitz could get the hostages out, even though you were terrified. That kind of thing takes strength, strength that not a lot of field agents have."

Skye was in a mild state of shock, unsure how to respond to her supervising officer actually giving her a compliment. But she managed to give her a smile. "Thanks, Agent May," she said softly.

"Just try not to find yourself hanging off of too many ledges from now on, okay?" May replied. "You'll give Coulson a heart attack."

"You're damn right."

Skye and May turned around to see Coulson standing in the doorway, a stack of papers in his hands.

"Sorry, A.C.," Skye smirked. "Next time a gravity-controlling freak show stops by, I'll be sure to skip town."

Coulson gave her a look of mild exasperation, but he was smiling a little. He and May exchanged a glance before May exited the office, closing the door behind her.

Skye put her hands on her hips. "What did you need me for?" she asked. "Was there something in my report or-"

"Your report was fine," Coulson interrupted, moving around his desk to set the papers down. "I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Yeah," Skye replied, only slightly thrown off by his abrupt tone. "Shoot."

Coulson slid a key into one of the desk drawers and pulled out what looked like a thumb drive. "I know you've got your hands pretty full with the Index," he said, walking over to her. "But if you have some time on the side, I'd like you to take a look at this."

Skye stared at the drive he'd deposited into her palm. "What is it?"

"I was hoping you could tell me," Coulson sighed. "These are some scans I had Simmons take of the lab door Garrett redecorated."

"The one with all that weird writing on it?"

Coulson nodded. "It's not the first time we've come across something like this."

"Back in Belarus," Skye replied, remembering how the Todorov building had had an insane amount of security for just a chalkboard filled with strange symbols.

"Yep."

"So…what?" she asked. "You think it's some kind of code?"

"Not sure," Coulson shrugged. "But if Garrett was playing around with it, I think it'd be a safe bet to say it's connected with HYDRA somehow. Cracking it could be a way for us to keep tabs on them, figure out their next play."

"How do you want me to-"

"Run it through what you have already?" he suggested. "Try to find a match if you can. Maybe even pull up some of your old contacts with the Rising Tide, as long as you keep the data secure."

Even though Skye had about a billion other things on her plate, she had to admit she was more than a little intrigued. And if Coulson was giving her permission to contact the Rising Tide, then she knew it had to be important to him. "Okay," she said. "I'll get on that."

Coulson gave her a curt nod before heading back to his desk.

"Hey, A.C., I wanted to-"

"Sorry, Skye," he interjected, cutting her off as he reached over to grab a pen. "I don't mean to be short with you, but I've got a lot of stuff to take care of."

Skye stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, confused as to why he was avoiding her eyes. "Um…okay," she said slowly. "It's just, it's about-"

"I know what it's about," he sighed, looking up at her.

Skye stared at him in confusion. "Then you know you need to talk to him, right?" she asked. "I think you're the only one he'll really listen to."

Coulson glanced back down at the papers on his desk. "I'll take care of it," he replied.

She tried her best not to sigh in exasperation. "Look, I know he's a good agent and everything, and that you want him on your side, but that doesn't mean he can just-"

"I said I'll take care of it," Coulson said firmly.

"But-"

"You're dismissed, Agent Skye."

Her argument died on her lips, and even though his coldness hurt her, she knew she had to drop it. "Yes, sir," she said quietly, leaving Coulson alone in his office.

* * *

He didn't bother keeping track of the days anymore. Time was irrelevant, for him at least. The rotation was the same, the food was the same, the company was the same. It was monotonous to the point where he wasn't sure he was even there anymore. It was vaguely reminiscent of another time when he'd been alone, on his own for months with nowhere to go. But at least that time, he'd been able to keep himself busy, finding food, building shelter, raiding cabins for gloves when he'd though the skin on his hands was going to freeze off. Here he just sat in his cell, useless, his basic needs met in order to keep him alive. No more, no less.

He began to daydream about that time he'd been on his own, a time when he'd been scared out of his mind but when he'd at least had someone to talk to.

Even if that someone hadn't been able to talk back.

His guards weren't stationed in his cell anymore, most of them choosing to sit in the chair outside in the hallway. At one point, Koenig was replaced by another agent, the same agent that had gotten Ward out of Grissom with Trip. Hunter, Ward thought his name was. From the little he knew of the guy, he was a mercenary, hardly the type that Coulson would recruit to join S.H.I.E.L.D. But maybe they were desperate now, taking anyone they could get. It didn't really matter to him anymore.

Days passed, or weeks, or months. He wasn't sure. And still, in all that time, Simmons had been the only one to actually speak to him. He had been surprised when she'd come in, mostly because he'd figured Coulson had banned her and Skye from even going near his cell. But he hadn't been surprised by what she'd said, or what she'd tried to do him.

But when she'd left, his cell had once more turned into his silent tombstone. Sometimes he slept. Sometimes he jogged around the small space until his feet cried out in agony. Sometimes he just sat there, on his cot, staring at nothing. Thinking about nothing.

Of course he wasn't really thinking about nothing, though, was he? No, he still played out every single moment in his head. Every glance, every touch, every single word she'd said to him. It was there. Taunting him. Mocking him. Letting him know that he would spend the rest of his life alone in a box, unseen, unheard, forsaken by everyone he'd ever known.

And then one night, something changed. He wasn't sure what had happened at first. He'd been pretending to be asleep, which was his usual tactic whenever Coulson was on guard. Coulson was the only one of the entire rotation who still endured his shift within the room, standing motionless as he stared at Ward. So Ward had decided fairly early on that he would ignore him as well. He told himself it was because he was actually tired during Coulson's shift, but if he was honest with himself, it was really because he couldn't look his former superior officer in the eyes anymore.

But one night, when he was in between the stages of wakefulness and sleep, he heard a small scuffle, like something was being slid across the floor. It was too quiet for it to be a food tray, but too loud to be May trading places with Coulson. He waited a long while after Coulson had left before rolling over onto his side.

After making sure May wasn't hiding in the corner of the room, Ward slowly stepped off of the cot and walked over to the small rectangular object lying on the floor at the front of his cell. He bent over and gingerly picked it up, brushing the dust off of the cover.

It was a book.

Ward simply stared at the volume in his hands, wondering why on earth Coulson would leave behind a book in his cell. But eventually he pushed his confusion to the back of his mind, because after having had absolutely nothing to do in his cell for weeks, he readily welcomed the prospect of having something to read. At that point, he didn't even care what it was.

Ward's cell was dimly lit, but if he positioned himself correctly, he was able to use the light coming in from the doorway in order to examine the cover. He read the title, and even though it sounded vaguely familiar, he was positive that _The Things They Carried_ hadn't been on the list of the hundreds of books Garrett had given him to read. And as he devoured the entire volume in less than an hour, he began to wonder why.

* * *

"Oh, come on, Fitz. You're not seriously going to leave it like that."

"And what, may I ask, is wrong with it exactly?"

"Nothing," Simmons insisted, waving her hand dismissively. "I just thought you'd always hated growing it out is all."

"We are _vigilantes_ now, Simmons," Fitz replied, setting his bottle down next to him on the ramp so he could gesture towards her with both of his hands. "Okay? This is not the time to care about petty things like…like S.H.I.E.L.D.'s facial-hair protocol. Which, by the way, doesn't exist anymore."

Simmons sighed as she took another sip. "Do whatever you like, Fitz," she said. "But don't be surprised if you end up disappointed."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, Fitz, it's already been two months," Simmons laughed, reaching out to touch his face. "And all you've got is just a _tiny_ bit of-"

"Hey!" he cried, pushing her hand away. "Could you just let me have this small amount of defined masculinity I happen to have?" Simmons simply laughed again, but she withdrew her arm from him. "Thank you," he huffed.

Skye couldn't keep the smile off of her face. "I like it," she shrugged.

Simmons leaned forward slightly so she could see Skye. "You do?"

Skye nodded. "Yeah, makes him look older now."

"Well…I suppose," Simmons reasoned.

"You know I'm right in between you two, yeah?" Fitz said loudly, not even turning his head to look at them. "I can hear your mockery as plain as day."

Skye heard Trip heave a long sigh. "Are any of you able to just, I don't know, watch a sunset in peace?"

Skye nudged him with her right elbow. "Shut up, Trip," she smirked. "You should've known what you were getting into when you decided to give FitzSimmons alcohol."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Oi!" Simmons said from the other end. "You watch your tongue."

Fitz was still grumbling about Skye and Simmons. "Honestly, the two of you," he muttered, shaking his head. "Can't even let me have just one thing. Not a beard, not a monkey…Hey!" he exclaimed, sitting up straighter and pointing his finger at all of them. "Speaking of which, I think it's time for someone to own up to that."

Skye finished swallowing her sip of beer, trying not to let it come out of her nose as she laughed. "I swear, Fitz," she promised. "We have no idea who put it there."

"Come on, now," Fitz replied with a smirk. "You don't really think I'm that daft, do you?" He sighed. "Simmons, just admit it."

"Fitz, where on earth could I have possibly gotten a stuffed monkey? We've been hiding out in bunkers this whole time."

Fitz seemed to consider her argument for a second. "All right," he said, turning his head to the other side. "Well, Skye then. You've been out of the base, on missions and stuff. It was you, wasn't it?"

"Believe me, Fitz," Skye assured him. "At this point, I almost wish it was."

Fitz sighed again, leaning forward to look around Skye. "Trip, buddy, I'm sorry," he shook his head. "But the jig is up now. If you really felt this way, you should've just said so."

Trip simply smiled at him. "Nope."

Fitz scoffed. "Oh, and I'm supposed to just take your word for it, am I?" he asked, sitting back again as he folded his arms. "I should have known better than to ask someone whose idea of a good coma story involves dissecting whales."

"Melville wrote a fine piece of literature, man," Trip replied. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"See? Exactly my point," Fitz said, shaking his head again. "Can't trust you at all."

Even though Skye was a little buzzed, there was something that they'd said that had made her pause. "Wait, Fitz," she said, turning to look at him.

"Yeah?"

"When you were unconscious at the Playground…you could hear us?"

"Well…not everything, would be my guess," he answered honestly. "Bits and pieces, mostly." He leaned closer to her so that Simmons or Trip wouldn't hear him. "But don't worry," he whispered, giving her a knowing smile. "Your secret is safe with me…Mary Sue."

Skye made sure to keep her face as still as possible. She'd been given the opportunity of a lifetime, and she sure as hell wasn't going to waste it. She leaned back a little, just enough so he could see her stony expression in full. And then, in the quietest, most menacing voice she could muster, she said it.

"Don't ever call me that."

The reaction on his face alone made it completely worth it, his eyes widening in surprise. He leaned away from her, almost as if she was going to attack him or something, but as soon as he saw her smile, he shook his head. "Bloody hell," he murmured. "You sounded just like her there."

Skye tried to hide her snicker with another sip, but Fitz was looking at the sunset again.

"I know it was one of you lot that did it," he mumbled. "So I don't know why you're all too shy to just come out with it already."

"Maybe it was Fury," Trip suggested with a smile.

"Oh, and that's another thing," Fitz cried, turning to his other side. "Simmons, do you honestly expect me to believe that the former director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself was the one who rescued us?"

Simmons pulled her legs up to rest her chin on her knees. "The one and only," she grinned.

He scoffed again. "Well, Simmons, if you're going to make up a story, you should try and at least make it somewhat believable."

She lifted up her chin in indignant amusement. "I'm not making it up, Fitz!"

"Nah, I don't believe it," he shook his head. "There's no way someone like that would have loaned out an entire medical team to me without good reason."

Skye exchanged a worried glance with Simmons, and even though she saw a similar flash of sadness in Simmons's eyes, the biochemist was smirking when she replied. "Actually, he said he was just returning a favor."

Fitz raised his eyebrows. "Come again?"

"Do you remember that Mouse Hole you designed about a year ago?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I submitted it for testing, but it never wound up getting distributed. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Simmons shrugged, the grin on her face wider than Skye had seen in a long time. "It just…may or may not have saved Fury's life during the Battle at the Triskelion, as well as the lives of a man named Sam Wilson, former Agents Hill and Romanoff, and Captain Rogers."

And as Fitz stared at Simmons in dumbfounded silence, probably unable to process what she'd just told him, Skye turned her attention back to the gorgeous view of Manhattan at sunset and smiled to herself.

Because even though the world had come crashing down around them, even though HYDRA was still out there, even though there were things about her past that she still struggled to understand…she was content. And no. If anyone had told her a year ago that she would cry tears of happiness when an engineer remembered her, or that she would be able to do a pull-up while hanging off of a ledge, or that watching a sunset with a pair of tipsy scientists would give her endless joy, or that she'd be on the government's watch list, she wouldn't have believed them. (Okay, being on the government's watch list probably wouldn't have surprised her that much.)

But somehow, despite everything that had happened, she knew that this was where she belonged. Here, with this group of people, fighting to do the right thing in a world falling apart. Coulson hadn't been lying. It was the craziest show on earth.

And she was so glad she'd come along for the ride.

* * *

Her heels clacked along the cement floor as she made her way into the darkened room, the door creaking as it closed behind her. She wasn't acknowledged or greeted in any way, but no one stopped her from walking up to him.

"I thought you might be interested in seeing this," she said, holding out the tablet for him to watch. On the screen was the girl, pulling herself up onto a ledge and shorting out the island's power supply before jumping out of the window only moments later. The angle of the video was less than desirable, as she'd had to go into their backup records to assemble the clips. But the video was effective nonetheless.

"They've trained her well," she continued, turning off the tablet. "I think she's ready, Doctor."

There was a long pause as she waited for his response. And even after all the time she'd spent with him, his voice still managed to send a chill up her spine when he spoke.

"Bring her to me."

END OF PART ONE

TO BE CONTINUED...

* * *

**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, even though there were lengthy breaks in between chapters and it took me forever to finally get everything out there. Part Two (called Terra) will be considerably shorter than Genesis, because I want to wrap up this project as close to the season 2 premiere as I can. I'll probably post it under a different story, but I will also post the first chapter here so that anyone who would like to read it can do so.

For those of you choosing to stop here, I would like to say thank you again for reading. It really means the world to me that you would choose to read something I wrote. And to those who have given me the most amazing (and constructive!) feedback, I'm sending you all hugs! :)

P.S. I know that they way the team defeated Graviton was probably a bit of a stretch, but in the comics (like 90% of the time), The Avengers got rid of him by sending him into another dimension. And since the team had already come across the whole other-dimension thing in "Repairs," where a portal was opened by a particle accelerator malfunction, I just decided to go that route. I hope it wasn't too confusing, but if anything needs to be clarified more let me know. I wanted to mention something, though, so you know I didn't just...like, pull the thing _entirely _out of nowhere. ;)


	17. Terra

**A/N**: Here is the first chapter of Terra (Part Two of Genesis). The rest of the chapters will be posted under a separate story. Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this project! I hope to have this second installment finished as close to the season 2 premiere as possible, because I now know my story will deviate from canon. But in case I don't finish by the 23rd, I hope everyone can enjoy this slightly (or completely) different take on the premiere. :)

* * *

PART TWO

"It's a little bit strange."

Skye was pulled out of her thoughts as Trip entered the Bus's comm room, seamlessly continuing the conversation they'd been having before he'd gone for a beer run. She sat up on the Holocom, abandoning the unrealistic notion she'd had of taking a catnap. "I mean, they're _exactly _the same. You really think they're just triplets?" he asked doubtfully. "Come on."

Skye slid to the edge of the table, dangling her legs over the side. "I have heard _all_ your theories, Trip," she said, grabbing the bottle Trip offered her and taking a sip.

"_And_ Koenig is always mentioning another brother," Trip added, shaking his head. "Every day, another brother. If he brings up one more brother, I don't know what I'm gonna do."

Skye had to admit that she'd also harbored a strange feeling about the situation. But she had a lot more things to worry about at the moment than the fact that every single Agent Koenig she'd met could have been interchangeable with another. "Coulson said we can trust him."

Trip considered her point, but sounded unconvinced when he responded. "There's something fishy going on there, man," he sighed, taking another sip from his beer and turning to see the screen. There were a few moments of comfortable silence as Skye studied the cryptic images displayed in front of her. "You'll go crazy staring at this crap," Trip told her. "What is it again?"

"Not sure," Skye replied, still staring at the screen. "Something Garrett was messing with?" She folded her arms as she moved off of the table. "Coulson put me on it a month ago, searching deep-web contacts, even the Rising Tide, looking for a match." The symbols continued to flash across the screen, almost as if they were mocking her as she stepped closer. "I've got nothing," she sighed, unable to believe that after all that time, she still hadn't been able to find an answer. This was supposed to be her forte, right? She hated being the bearer of unfavorable news to Coulson, especially after he'd entrusted her with more responsibility than she probably deserved. He had enough bad news to deal with as it was.

Coulson himself strode into the room just then. "There he is," Trip smiled as he and Skye turned to face him. "Happy to see you, sir."

"Agent Triplett," Coulson replied. "Skye."

Despite the lack of progress on her most recent assignment, Skye still found herself smiling. As the new director of S.H.I.E.L.D. only just starting to get his bearings, Skye rarely got to see more than a few minutes of Coulson a day. "Sir," she nodded.

He glanced at Trip. "Could you give us a moment?"

Trip held up his bottle. "Watch this," he grinned before sauntering out of the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Skye watched Trip leave with a smile, happy to see him in a good mood. Not that he wasn't usually in a good mood. In fact, it was hard to find something that didn't completely roll off of his back. But his behavior had been worrying her lately.

"Aww, no hugs?" she joked, turning back to Coulson. "He was really looking forward to it."

Coulson didn't look particularly amused, so Skye quickly dove into her update. "I've crosschecked the writing from the lab with the new images you've given me," she said, indicating the screen next to her. "It's mostly the same, but the code breakers haven't found any-"

"That's not why I'm here," Coulson interrupted her, and her eyes fell on a small packet of papers he had in his hand. "The Absorbing Man we encountered on the op last month?" he said as he handed them to her. "We think he's resurfaced again."

Skye stared at the document for a few seconds, recalling how May and Trip had run into the assassin while trying to get Ward away from HYDRA. Coulson had forced her to stay behind for the op, insisting it was too personal for her, but had reluctantly admitted afterwards that Carl Creel had probably belonged on the Index. May and Deputy Director Isabelle Hartley had been able to subdue the guy by tricking him into a fountain, but obviously it had only been a temporary solution.

Skye briefly wondered why he wanted her to focus on her Index duty, when HYDRA was a much more imminent threat at the moment. But then it hit her.

"You want me to go down there, don't you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"You're the only one who can," Coulson replied, the hint of an apology on his face.

Skye tried not to sound too ticked off. "Is this really what it takes for and I to get a one-on-one these days?" she scoffed, realizing just now that she'd unknowingly been a part of his strategy, that he'd had more than one reason for keeping her away from that particular room. He didn't answer her, so she decided to ask her own strategic question. "Why now?"

"Because the technology in play warrants it," he responded simply.

The last thing Skye wanted was to be on Coulson's bad side, but she really didn't want this particular assignment either. "And do I have a say in this?" she asked.

His lack of a reply spoke volumes.

"Copy that," she muttered before leaving the room.

* * *

The days passed in the usual way, without any direct contact and in nearly complete darkness. He was still guarded by the same group of people, he was still given the same exact food once a day, and Coulson was still the only one in the rotation that covered his shift within the room. And the days were the same on Ward's end, too. He still woke up uncomfortable, he still never really knew what time of day it was, and he still had to run around or do pushups to take the edge off of his nerves sometimes.

But despite their monotonous nature, the days didn't drag on anymore.

Since that first book had been surreptitiously slid into his cell, Ward had woken up to find a different volume on the corner of the floor every single day. And every single day, without fail, he would read the entire thing, cover to cover, sometimes more than once if he had the time. He never read them during Coulson's shift, and always left the book exactly where he'd found it. But Coulson still switched them out every night.

So while the days had simply blended together before, with nothing giving Ward the desire to even care, now he had something by which to mark the time.

Twenty-eight books. Twenty-eight books in twenty-eight days. And still, out of all of those books, not a single one of them had been on the list Garrett had given him to read as his S.O. It had been a little surprising, but not surprising enough for Ward to refuse reading material.

The volumes varied in subject as well as in nature. Some were biographical memoirs, some were historical fiction, and some were simply tactical instruction manuals. Some were laden with themes of betrayal, others with honor. The selections didn't seem to follow a common pattern, but he had no doubt that each one had been carefully chosen before being placed in his cell.

Ward knew what Coulson was doing. He wasn't stupid. It was just like back at Grissom, a constant inundation of material designed to make him feel guilty. But Ward didn't mind so much this time. Because this time he had the choice every day to pick up the book and read it. He didn't care what it was about. It was something to do, something to immerse himself in.

Something to make him forget about the hellhole he'd been dropped into.

And so when she finally came to his cell one day, actually physically entered into his cell, he couldn't have been more surprised. The copy of _Ordinary Men_ he had in his hands fell onto the cot next to him as he sat up, unsure if he was actually seeing what he thought he was seeing. After months of isolation, it wouldn't be that much of a stretch for him to start having hallucinations.

But his hallucination of Skye wouldn't have had emptiness in her eyes when she looked at him, or the gun strapped to her right thigh.

"Just so we're clear, you make any sudden movements or attempt to get up, you're gonna have a nice little nap for three days," she said calmly, her right arm resting casually above the holster. "No warning, no second chance. Nothing but a tranquillizer dart to the chest and a headache from hell when you wake up." Her tone was clinical, as if she were speaking to any common criminal, and there was absolutely no familiarity in her expression. "We on the same page?"

Ward didn't trust his voice to speak, so he held her gaze as he gave her a simple nod. He could tell she'd been trained, probably by May if he had to guess. And he knew that if she felt confident enough to enter into his cell, she also probably felt confident enough to take him on her own. He had no doubt that she could. The Skye he was looking at was utterly unrecognizable from the one he and Coulson had picked up off the streets so long ago. This Skye was guarded, hardened.

Lethal.

"Let's skip the part where you pretend not to know Talbot was HYDRA," she continued, barely acknowledging his acquiescence. "Or that you weren't aware of the little backfired experiment done on this man." She held out a tablet in front of her so he could see the face displayed on the screen. Ward only had time to briefly examine the man's face and the name in bold letters at the top before she lowered the device. "What's their play?"

Ward looked back and forth between Skye and the tablet she held in her hands, completely baffled as to what she was asking him. "I've never seen that guy," he croaked, immediately trying to clear his throat.

"Let's try that again," Skye replied, her expression telling him that he was dangerously close to getting a dart in the chest. "What does HYDRA want to use him for?"

He opened and closed his mouth in confusion. "You think _I_ know?" he asked, glad to hear his voice no longer sounded like that of a dying frog. "I'm telling the truth."

She scoffed. "You honestly expect me to believe that in all your pillow talk with Talbot you _never_ discussed this?"

"Pillow talk?" Ward repeated in bewilderment. "I had one conversation with him."

She folded her arms. "And?"

Ward still wasn't exactly sure what that meeting with Talbot had been about. But for some reason he wanted to make sure Skye knew that he wasn't lying. "He offered me a…" he hesitated, unsure what word to use. "Job," he finished uncertainly.

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Doing what?"

Ward shook his head. "I don't know."

"Doing what?" she repeated, any trace of amusement gone from her face.

"Uh…" he stammered, quickly trying to recall the words Talbot had used. "Undercover work…gathering intel…that kind of thing. He didn't give specifics, okay?"

Ward was spiraling, he knew that, much to his dismay. How the hell was this girl able to make him abandon any and all interrogation training he'd ever had? He'd sat through dozens of May's and Coulson's and Hartley's shifts with the resolute determination to keep his mouth shut if they started asking questions. And here Skye was, in his cell for the first time, and he'd caved in less than a minute.

But maybe that had been the plan all along. Starve him of contact for so long that he'd practically ask for it himself. And send in the one person who could crumble his resolve in a heartbeat.

Skye didn't look convinced, though. "Sure he didn't," she scoffed quietly, a bitter smile on her lips. "And let me guess. You never got a chance to find out."

What she'd said was the truth, but Ward had a feeling it wasn't what she wanted to hear. He let his silence answer for him, and before he knew it she had turned around, obviously convinced that he had nothing of value to give her. And he didn't know why, but he suddenly needed her to stay for just a little bit longer. Something told him that she wasn't going to come back, not if he didn't have any useful intelligence for them.

So he said the first thing he could think of. "Look, that guy isn't your biggest threat right now."

She froze near the cell door, and Ward inwardly winced at his poor choice of words. "You wanna talk about threats?" she asked as she spun around, and it was the first time since she'd come in that she actually sounded angry. "HYDRA has literally been _hunting_ down S.H.I.E.L.D. agents-"

"I'm not talking about a threat to S.H.I.E.L.D.," he quickly assured her, shaking his head. "I'm talking about a threat to you."

Again, could he have been any creepier? He blamed his lack of recent social interaction.

"Careful where you step there," she warned him quietly, her right hand resting atop the gun at her side. "I won't hesitate."

He sighed, frustrated that she couldn't understand him. "There are people out there that are gonna be looking for you, Skye," he said, hoping she would take him seriously. Because despite the fact that he was spiraling, he was also telling the truth. And even though he knew she could take care of herself, he also knew that the people searching for her were a lot more lethal than she was.

But the scowl on her face told him she wasn't buying it. "All I'm saying," he finished, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice. "Is just…be careful."

Skye shook her head. "Wow," she said harshly. "You really are a piece of work. You'll say anything to get out of here, won't you?" She turned her head to the side, studying him with a wry smile. "But you don't actually know anything. You were just…HYDRA's puppet the whole time." She turned around again, opening the cell door to leave. "You've got nothing worth my time."

"I have information," Ward insisted, hating the way he sounded but unable to stop himself. "Information you might need one day."

"You keep telling yourself that," she responded without looking back, the door clanging shut behind her. "But don't hold your breath."

* * *

Fitz hurriedly stuffed the papers he'd been staring at for the past hour into a drawer as he heard her footsteps coming in from the back of the lab. He placed his protective glasses on his face and leaned forward over the device, pretending to be deeply engrossed with what he was doing.

The sound of her shoes on the lab floor stopped as she came in through the door, almost as if she hadn't expected him to be there. "Have you not left since last night?" she asked, walking around the lab bench to look at him.

"What?" he muttered distractedly, glancing up from his work. He was surprised to see that she'd recently washed her hair, and that the rosiness in her cheeks hadn't faded like it usually did by the end of the day. "Oh," he said in confusion, looking around for his watch. "No, I-I…guess I just lost track of time. Is it morning already?"

Jemma sighed in mild exasperation, and the look in her eyes told him exactly what she was going to say. "Fitz, you shouldn't be overworking yourself," she admonished him. "Despite your progress, you still sustained a traumatic brain injury, remember?"

How could he have forgotten? It wasn't really something he wanted to discuss, though. "I'm fine," he said dismissively, arranging the objects neatly on the bench in front of him. "Besides, I needed to finish these before we head out."

But Jemma wasn't paying attention to his inventions. "You haven't eaten anything either, have you?" she asked in a disapproving tone as she folded her arms. His face must have given his answer away, because she gasped quietly. "Fitz!"

"Jemma, what the hell?" he laughed, wondering how on earth this girl could worry about him so much. "Okay, could you just stop doctoring me for one bloody second?"

Jemma wasn't laughing with him. "I wouldn't _have_ to doctor you if you'd simply take care of yourself better," she insisted, and Fitz's smile faded at hearing how genuinely upset she was getting. "Honestly, Fitz, I figured I shouldn't have to remind you to _eat_ of all things, especially considering your-"

"All right, all right," he sighed, holding up a hand to stop her. On his list of things he didn't want to talk about, his hereditary condition of hypoglycemia was very close to the top. "Might as well take a break, I guess," he conceded.

"Right, you are," she replied sternly before heading out of the lab.

Fitz set down his glasses and quickly caught up with her. "Well, I can't exactly expect to get any work done with you chattering away in my ear, now can I?" he joked.

"Oh, hush," she reprimanded him, but she was smiling as she reached into her bag. "Here," she said, holding out something for him to take. "I was over on the Bus earlier grabbing some supplies and picked one up for you. It's been ages since you've solved one."

He glanced down at the Rubik's Cube in his palm and inexplicably felt a pang in his chest. "That other one," he said as he tried to hide his disappointment. "It got left behind at the Playground, didn't it?"

"You have dozens of them, Fitz," Jemma remarked with a laugh. "What's losing one going to matter?"

Fitz wracked his brain for an appropriate response, one that wouldn't involve him telling her why that particular Cube had mattered to him so much. But thankfully they ran into Coulson on their way to the kitchen.

"FitzSimmons," he greeted them quickly before heading in the opposite direction. "Mission briefing in five," he called over his shoulder.

After Jemma had insisted they grab some snacks from the kitchen, Fitz gathered his supplies in the lab and met everyone else in the main briefing room. Coulson was standing in front of a wide screen, which was displaying both a file from Skye's Index as well as what looked like a series of security photos.

"We've got reports of sightings near a warehouse just outside of Wichita," Coulson announced once everyone had gathered together. "Carl Creel…" he said, gesturing to the man pictured on the screen, "was a HYDRA experiment gone wrong. But if he's shown up again, after having disappeared in a known HYDRA facility, it could mean that HYDRA's found a way to control him." As he spoke, Skye flipped through more images on the screen, showing Creel terrorizing a small Air Reserve base in Indiana. "This man has the ability to absorb the properties of anything he touches. Deputy Director Hartley and Agent May were able to subdue him, but Creel has apparently found a way to return to his original form."

The screen changed to show diagrams of the locations of Creel's last known sightings. "Our mission today is to follow him, see if he can lead us to HYDRA's current base of operations. But make no mistake," he assured them, his grim face reminding Fitz of how Creel had murdered Colonel Talbot with his bare hands. "This guy is deadly. So we will not engage with him unless the situation calls for us to do so." Coulson looked around the room to make sure everyone had heard him before turning to Fitz. "Agent Fitz?"

Fitz gestured towards the table in front of him, where he'd laid out about a dozen handguns, and picked up one of the bullets. "These are Hydration Yielding and Delayed Release Armor bullets, which I designed specifically to incapacitate Creel."

Fitz could almost hear Coulson's inevitable eye roll. "Really, Fitz?" he asked skeptically. "H.Y.D.R.A. bullets?"

"Unlike an ICER," he continued, ignoring anyone who didn't appreciate the painstaking care that had gone into the brilliantly appropriate name, "these bullets break upon contact rather than under the subcutaneous tissue, while still retaining an ICER's stopping power." He set the bullet down and picked up one of the weapons. "The fully automatic handguns shoot out four bullets at a time, and each clip contains ten fluid ounces of water, so you shouldn't find yourselves running out."

One of Coulson's newest recruits, a former mercenary named Hunter, spoke up from the back. "You just described a water gun, mate."

"Oh, is that so?" Fitz replied defensively. He didn't want to point out that the bullets had taken him weeks to design, much longer than he'd anticipated, but this guy obviously needed some further explanation if he compared sophisticated machinery to a toy. "Well, I'll have you know that these bullets can fire out at a speed that-"

"Okay, okay," Coulson interrupted, holding his hands up in the shape of a T. "We get it, Fitz."

Fitz glanced away from Hunter in irritation as Coulson continued. "Each agent will carry an ICER as well as one of these…" he paused, obviously annoyed with having to say it. "H.Y.D.R.A. guns," he sighed, shaking his head. "I'll be accompanying the team on the op, but in the meantime the deputy director will be holding down the fort."

Isabelle Hartley was leaning against one of the briefing tables, her arms folded as she smirked over at Coulson. "Pretty sure I was doing that anyway."

Coulson didn't retaliate, but there was a bit of a crinkle near his eye. "Agent Skye will also be coming, so we'll need someone on Index watch."

"Staring at a computer screen all day?" Hunter asked sarcastically before pointing to the man next to him. "I nominate Iowa."

"For the last time, Hunter," the man replied, closing his eyes in frustration. "It's _Idaho_."

"Do you kiss your mum with that mouth?"

"She's the one who _named_-"

"Hunter," Coulson spoke over them. "I'm gonna have to ask you to remain on base. You're still not an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent yet, so I need your-"

"Is there even such a thing as an official S.H.I.E.L.D. agent anymore?" Hunter pointed out. "All due respect, sir, but I thought we were all just trying to get by doing the right thing."

"And that's exactly the kind of attitude I need from my agents," Coulson said. "But I'm still gonna need you to fill out the paperwork. I've been asking you to turn it in for a while now." He didn't bother waiting for a response, and turned to the other man, giving him an apologetic smile. "Idaho, I _would_ appreciate it if you took Index watch."

Idaho stared at the ground. "Yes, sir," he mumbled.

"All right," Coulson announced, his eyes scanning the remaining agents in the room. "Let's roll out."

* * *

May leaned up against the south wall of the warehouse, keeping within the building's shadow to avoid being seen. "I've got eyes on the target," she murmured. "He's entering through the southeast doors."

"Copy that," Coulson replied through her comm. "Remember, we just want to see where he goes, if he talks to anyone, that kind of thing. Do not engage him."

"Yes, sir," Triplett said, but May noticed him moving closer to the door.

"Trip, what are you doing?" she asked, taking a step forward in case she had to run.

"Relax," he assured her. "I'm just following him, and I'll stay far enough back so he doesn't see me. But how else are we going to find out what he's up to from out here?"

"Agent Triplett, get out of there. You are not-"

But Coulson stopped giving his order as the sound of Triplett crying out in pain came through the comms. May was at the southeast entrance in two seconds, entering through the door to see that Creel had Triplett in a chokehold. The man must have known he'd been followed, and had hid near the entrance for the first person to wander in. Triplett fought hard against him, but he was no match for Creel, who had absorbed all of Triplett's strength on top of his own.

May quickly raised her H.Y.D.R.A. gun and fired repeatedly, causing Creel to release his hold on Triplett. As Triplett fell to the floor, gasping for air, May continued firing, relieved to notice that Creel's body had started to disintegrate again. "We're gonna need a containment case," she shouted, loading another magazine in order to keep a steady flow of water streaming onto him.

Despite having seen Creel melt before, the sight was still gruesome to behold, and she found herself relieved when FitzSimmons came rushing into the space.

"All right, just keep the water coming," Fitz told her as he and Simmons began using a variety of instruments to collect the puddle that had once been a man. Fitz took care of the larger samples, while Simmons worked dutifully at using a pipet to get all the miniscule droplets, taking care to never let an ounce of water remain in her hands for too long.

The entire process took less than thirty seconds. Fitz quickly closed the lid of the plastic container they'd deposited the water into and placed it within a locked metal box, which was then placed into an additional S.H.I.E.L.D. containment case.

"That should do it," Fitz huffed, looking like he was trying to catch his breath as he pulled out his tablet. Simmons quickly ran over to Triplett, helping him to his feet and letting him lean on her as they made their way back to the van.

"Is it clear?" May asked Fitz, angling herself so that he was closer to the doorway, just in case HYDRA decided to emerge from the darkness this time.

Fitz was busily examining the screen in front of him. "Yep," he finally nodded. "No thermal or electrical activity." He slid his backpack off of his shoulders, taking out the D.W.A.R.F. case. "It's just us now."

"All right," May replied, grabbing Creel's containment case. "I'll take this back to the van. You and Skye examine the area, see if you can find anything tying this place to HYDRA."

"Got it," he muttered, using his tablet to send off one of the bots.

May passed Skye on her way back, and listened carefully as she and Fitz spoke through their comms.

"I'll check upstairs," Skye said as soon as she'd entered the warehouse. "This place is a ghost town. What the hell was this guy doing here?"

"No clue," Fitz replied. "I'm not getting any kind of heat signature, no radiation, nothing."

When May entered the van, Simmons was pulling an ice pack out of the cooler. "All right, just keep that on your throat," she ordered gently as she placed it on Triplett's neck. "It'll help reduce the swelling." Triplett began to nod, but she placed a hand in front of his face. "No, no," she admonished. "Keep your head in a neutral position. And don't lie back either. I don't think you have a fracture, but we wouldn't want to make it worse in case you do."

Triplett looked a little disappointed at Simmons's words, but May realized that it was because he didn't know how to thank her without speaking or nodding his head. Eventually he settled for giving her a thumbs up.

"I'm not seeing anything up here, you guys," Skye reported. "But I'll keep looking around."

"Sir, the D.W.A.R.F.s haven't found anything worth mentioning either. It looks like this warehouse has been out of commission for a while. There's not even…" Fitz's voice trailed off. "Wait, hang on."

"What is it, Fitz?" Coulson asked.

"I don't know, there was just…my tablet just turned off all of a sudden," he muttered, sounding confused. "Oh, well now it's back on," he added sarcastically. "Weird. Skye? Did you notice anything? I think my heat signature device must be acting up because you're not…"

Fitz stopped talking again, probably realizing that Skye hadn't responded. "Skye? Did you go back to the van? You're not showing up on the thermal detector."

May stepped out of the vehicle, looking around the empty street for any sign that Skye had exited the warehouse. And in the silence that followed, May felt her stomach drop.

She ran into the building, her legs tearing her past the abandoned D.W.A.R.F. case in the middle of the main floor. She sped up the only staircase, racing over to where Fitz stood. And even if she hadn't seen the H.Y.D.R.A. gun lying on the floor, her worst suspicions would have been confirmed by Fitz's white face as he stared uncomprehendingly at the tablet in front of him.

"She's gone," he whispered.


End file.
